Severa's first memory of loss came when she was thirteen.
A thrust landed in the center of the dummy. An imperfect strike, but it had power.
The dummy gazed at her with its unblinking painted eyes.
Perfection was what was demanded of her, nothing less. Yet she still remembered Khan Basilio's advice.
If an enemy fell in battle to a strike, then was that strike not perfect? If something landed harder but in the wrong place, was it better than a precise strike that might not pierce armour?
As she'd grown, the teenager had begun to wrestle with this question more. She didn't know the answer and she didn't have anyone she could ask.
Every experienced fighter in Ylisse fought in Valm. Any that remained were part of a skeleton crew that watched the border with Plegia and from what Severa heard from the adults, they were stretched thin.
She didn't hear much from the adults at all anymore. Her schooling had come to a close. With so many of the adults stripped away, those that had the facility to teach had been called to more important roles in Ylisse. The education of a teenaged girl and her brilliant sister came second to the desperate need to ensure that grain was farmed and distributed across a country absent half its workers.
Morgan should have still been there, making friends, laughing, smiling in the way that only she could. But she was simply too smart. Severa had been disruptive in her own way, the redhead always challenged what she thought was wrong. But Morgan's natural charisma along with her curiosity and honesty made her more of a problem. When the older sister interrupted, the other children saw a pain, when the younger did, they saw a leader.
In a single sentence, said absent any malice, Morgan could disrupt a day's worth of lessons. She made their teachers look foolish without trying as they scrambled to explain answers to questions they couldn't even begin to understand. The worst part was the other children following her lead, trying to emulate their hero.
So, when Severa had turned thirteen they had sent the feathery haired girl packing, convinced that she had nothing more to learn.
Both girls knew that the adults were wrong.
They'd set about raiding their father's library, reading anything and everything that they had to hand. In those moments Severa felt that she and her snowy haired little sister might be similar. It was comforting, knowing that at least in one way, she might be as incredible as the smiling girl next to her.
Over time though, she realised she was wrong. The teenager had felt the pressure of her parent's expectations from when she was an infant. She did everything to live up to them. She drove herself because of a fear, an understanding, that one day her mother and father would return. They would stare at her with those emotionless eyes and judge her. She didn't want to be found wanting.
Morgan wanted knowledge for knowledge's sake. She loved learning; her eyes sparkled with every new book she received. She never once worried about what their parents would think of her because she would never have to. She was a marvel; she would fulfil and exceed every expectation precisely because meeting those expectations meant nothing to her.
Severa hated her sister in that moment. The little sister that showed her nothing but love.
Her slash landed hard under the dummy's arm. The wood felt like it might dislodge.
The dummy's painted eyes maintained their weighing gaze.
Thrust, Slash Up, Slash Down. Thrust, Slash Up, Slash Down.
It was a familiar rhythm.
The two girls had quickly become used to the woman, Mrs. Dia, who came to their house briefly each day to make sure they were fed and the house was in order in the first few weeks after their parents had left. But the more surprising visitor had been a villainous looking man lacking a left hand who had taken to visiting them six months after the beginning of the war.
Mr. Mito, as he introduced himself, claimed to have been sworn to House Luna and when thoroughly questioned by Severa clearly knew enough of the House's history to lend at least some proof to that assertion.
Her mother had arranged for him to ensure that the girls maintained their combat lessons. Although Mr. Mito was clear that he was not a teacher and that the best he could offer were exercises for them to perform and diet plans for Mrs Dia to implement.
"I can only fight with one hand," he'd said. "I couldn't show you the correct forms if I tried and even if I could, I've fought like this for so long that I'd probably get them wrong," he'd said as he eyed his stump. "I know what warriors need to do to get strong, what they need to eat, how much they need to train. But you scamps would do better to learn from each other if you want to learn technique."
It was enough, after a fashion. Mr. Mito would visit every few weeks, measure their weight and height, before watching them practice and assigning new exercises if he felt the need.
The latest in the series was designed to increase the strength in her right hand. A series of slashes all requiring different technique in quick succession. She recalled her father doing the same once.
Morgan had already finished for the day. If she wasn't reading by now, she'd be napping. The white-haired girl was younger, so the exercises Mr. Mito called for were less intense, but still tired her out all the same.
Severa continued. It was relaxing after a fashion. The solitude, the occasional clack as lathe blade impacted wood. She almost felt as if she could get away. From the expectations, the pressure. She could focus every aspect of herself into her feet, her arms and the sword in her hand.
That focus gave way to an awareness. Not just of her and the dummy, but around her. The slight looseness of a stone in the practice yard, the lance teetering on the edge of a rack, the streak of red hair at the bottom of the hill leading up to the house.
Severa wheeled as her momentary focus shattered.
A sword clattered to the ground.
She looked down.
It was hers.
Her hand shook.
She looked up.
Long red hair cascaded in the wind.
She took a step.
And another.
She tried to breathe.
She couldn't breathe.
A streak of white.
Her sister ran out the gate.
Her mother's arms opened.
Morgan ran into them.
"I missed you!"
Cordelia's voice.
Kisses on her sister's head.
Her father's laughter.
A breath came.
Then another.
Then another.
She started forward, opening the gate.
She looked on at her mother's incredible smile, her father leaning down to hug his youngest daughter.
She tried, she wanted to move towards them.
But she couldn't, she didn't want to stop something so perfect.
Her mother looked up from the snow-white hair, wet with tears of joy.
Cordelia opened her arms out wide, even as her youngest daughter cuddled her.
"Severa, come give your mother a hug."
She was in her mother's arms. She could feel her warmth.
She started to cry, salty tears streaming down her face.
"I missed you so much," she wept. "It's been so hard," she cried.
Another pair of arms enveloped her.
"We missed you both," her father replied.
For the first time since she'd been a toddler, she could feel the love in his words.
Valm had been difficult. Their King, Walhart, a warrior and leader almost beyond compare. They'd faced near hopeless odds and as absolute as those odds were, their victory had been equally so.
A continent of countries owed their liberty to her parents. In truth it was to the Exalt, but Severa knew that the man behind the strategies that had destroyed an empire sat at her dining table. The pegasus knight merrily making dinner had held the lance that pierced the Conqueror's heart.
The redhead felt pride. Not just in her parents for their incredible deeds, but in herself for being their daughter. It was a pride she would have to live up to.
They'd asked after her training soon enough, whilst marvelling over how articulate Morgan had become. The younger girl had been desperate to tell them about everything she'd learned at school and then more importantly everything she'd read since leaving.
Severa had contented herself with letting her sister enjoy the moment. But their parents turned to her for comments on training. It was only natural; she could fight harder and longer so her training was likely to be more intense and therefore relevant for scrutiny.
She'd explained the exercises Mr. Mito had put them through. As exactly as possible. She noted their weight and height growth with as much accuracy as she could recall. She'd spent time, memorising every figure, in fear of the test on her return.
Her father's eyes hardened. They weighed her as they did from across a chess board.
She could feel the rebuke coming. She'd missed something. She tried to understand what. She'd done everything she…
"You've done well." Her father didn't smile now, but she knew his praise was hard won. "Given the circumstances your development is excellent. In a few weeks we'll get back to work. Your mother will start working with you outside and I'll be doing the same with the chess board and your broader education."
Severa beamed.
"Why a few weeks?" Morgan looked pensive.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, even if we trained ourselves well, we're probably not as far along as we would have been with you. I don't understand why you would wait weeks when you're both already here?" The feathery haired girl rested her head on her hands, as if trying to solve the problem in her head.
Severa didn't think she'd felt the mood in a room turn so quickly. If her father's eyes had been hard before, they were stones now. The movement by the stove had stopped.
Her parents looked at each other.
Her father nodded.
"We'll be going to Regna Ferox."
Morgan's face lit up, but she quickly sensed her father's tone and remained silent.
"Why?" the redhead asked tentatively.
"To pay our respects to Khan Basilio."
"That doesn't make sense, Khan Basilio is your friend, I don't know why you'd need to go.."
The elder sister's voice trailed to nothing.
"He fell fighting Walhart," her father stated.
"Saving our lives," her mother added from her countertop.
Severa remembered. The fear at first, that broke upon his first grin. The pride she felt when he'd complimented her. The lessons he'd taught her.
She heard his voice, the same voice she'd heard every time she trained. A little voice from a giant of a man that told her perfection didn't have to be quite so perfect.
She didn't, she wouldn't start crying. He'd want no tears from anyone.
But even so she was happy when she felt her mother's arms twine around her again.
"I'm sorry Severa. We thought you might have been close."
How could they have been close? She'd only met the man once.
It still hurt.
"He talked about you every chance he got." Robin sounded wistful, "He gave your mother here an earful for 'trying to teach precision without power' apparently."
The older redhead pulled away from her, frowning. "Personally, I think he's wrong, but one doesn't argue with a Khan, especially after he died as possibly the greatest hero in Feroxi history."
"Be that as it may," her father intervened, clearly staving off an argument he'd heard before. "We'll be leaving the day after tomorrow. Khan Flavia insisted we have time to at least see and collect our families before leaving.
Even with the hug, the rhythmic stroking of her hair, the pain in the redhead's chest failed to abate.
She wanted to speak to him again. Just once more. To say how thankful she was. How much his words had helped her. She couldn't make the words form in her mouth.
"So, we get to see Regna Ferox?" Morgan had been silent through the exchange. Khan Basilio had only spoken to her briefly. A twinge of excitement stained her voice.
Her father favoured his youngest daughter with an affectionate smile. "Yes Morgan, we get to see Regna Ferox."
Feroxi funerals, Severa decided, were rather odd.
She had expected a somber affair, but instead the twintailed girl had found herself sat at a long table with her family whilst assorted Feroxi warriors laughed and chattered around them.
It should have been freezing, Severa had learned quickly that even in thick coats, the Feroxi weather could bite at you.
But the long tables were surrounded by massive bonfires. The gargantuan things radiated a heat that warded away even the worst of the cold. Severa thought she noticed a thin sheen of sweat on her mother's face, although she imagined that she didn't look any more composed.
Maintaining bonfires of that size should have been impossible. A part of her suspected that it was magic and the bonfires themselves were built not so much to burn, but to direct the heat towards the tables.
Still, it made for a cosy setting even though they were outdoors.
Her gaze was led to a raised stand at the end of the tables. One side had huge sets of drums and instruments of all sorts that were silent for the moment whilst the center held a podium. Nobody occupied it yet, but she knew that the official proceedings would soon begin.
And so, they did, as a familiar shade of pink hair took the stand. Queen Olivia's beauty was as radiant as the day that Severa had met her but as opposed to the stately dress she had worn on that meeting, the Feroxi was clad now as the humble dancer she had once been. White silks flowed with her every movement as they clung to her top, not suggestively, but simply to emphasise every flick of a wrist or stretch of an arm.
She seemed nervous at first. The queen hesitated as she looked over the crowd. A far cry from the cheerful woman who had greeted a nervous young girl so kindly on her first visit to the castle. But, with a deep breath she started.
It was a speech about love. The love of a man who had found an urchin dancing on a street corner and thought to take her in. A speech about kindness. The kindness of the same man who had taken every effort to teach the girl and raise her as his own. A speech about sorrow as such a great man had been so unfairly taken away from them.
But mostly it was a speech about hope. The hope that nothing was final, that anything could be changed. The hope that victory could be snatched from the jaws of the worst defeat. The hope that even if you were a pauper starving in the streets of Ferox, the Khan himself would not allow you to go unfed.
The dancer's confidence grew as she spoke until finally, finally her words faded.
A thump.
Hundreds of Feroxi hands banged the tables.
The queen bowed her head and stepped away from the podium, giving way to a dark skinned, but blonde-haired lady. Where the dancer moved with a grace and poise, this woman strode with purpose, her red and white armour was polished to a mirror sheen, scales that covered her chest glinting in the firelight. At her side was a long sword, scabbarded in a dark sheath with a white tip.
Khan Flavia looked everything like the fearsome warrior her father had described.
Idly Severa remembered Basilio talking about the strongest woman he'd ever met. Looking at the East-Khan now, Severa believed every single part of that claim.
A voice rang out, clear a strong. "The time for mourning has passed. Khan Basilio was a hero to each and every one of us but he would be furious if we spent our time crying like children over such a trivial thing as death. Instead, this funeral will be spent as Basilio lived!" Flavia raised a flagon that had been hidden within the podium, "To Khan Basilio and to Regna Ferox!"
The mug raised to the woman's lips.
Hundreds of Feroxi cheered.
The drums started beating.
What remained was pandemonium.
Severa watched from the outside. The long tables had been thrown aside and at least one overturned leg was precariously close to the bonfires.
The Feroxi were dancing, if it could be called that. It seemed more like wild flailing, barely in rhythm with the beats from the drum. An arm there, a leg there. It seemed mad that nobody had been injured.
Morgan stood on the outside as well, near one of the bonfires. Unsurprisingly she'd made friends almost immediately. The Feroxi children were a little different to the ones from the village, but they'd gravitated to her all the same. Well, her and a blonde-haired young boy who must have been around her age.
Right now, the redhead could just overhear the two of them telling the children the story of the Exalt and the Plegian King. The story of Exalt Chrom and Gangrel, the king of Plegia from before they had been born.
The boy had the soul of an entertainer. Effortlessly he spoke about the brave Chrom, heart rended by the loss of his sister and his comrades, steeling himself for a final attack against the mad king. The evil king driven insane by the whisperings of his devious generals and his outrage at Ylisse.
You could sense Chrom's emotions, know his feelings.
But it was Morgan who helped them see. For all the boy's emotion he lacked precision, the precision needed to make sense of the situation, to truly understand the odds, the stakes. And that was what Morgan supplied. Detail. Not too much to confuse, not too little to forget. Just enough that the scene came to life.
Together, it felt like Chrom was there, Falchion drawn and at the ready.
"It's hard, isn't it?"
The twintailed girl jumped, she'd been so enraptured she hadn't noticed someone behind her. Someone she knew.
He'd grown. She was still a little taller, but a small boy had turned into a gangly teen, limbs slightly too big for his frame. He was light, she could tell. He probably had less muscle on him than she did. But there was a little strength there at least. Someone had started training him, enough for a little of it to have taken effect. His face, marred by a spot or three was topped with the same lustrous grey hair she'd seen all those years ago.
But he was still Inigo, shying away from her almost as soon as her gaze was upon him. Strange, that voice had been confident.
She gave him a reassuring, or at least what she hoped was reassuring, smile, "What is Inigo?"
He seemed to relax slightly upon hearing his own name before moving to stand beside her, clouding her view of the dancing as he looked at Morgan and her little friend, "When they're so," he struggled for a word, "bright."
She looked back at the same pair; the boy was gesticulating wildly while Morgan told the younger children about the grand Pegasus charge from the left flank. Everyone was on the edge of their seats.
"Yeah," she replied sadly. She didn't want to be jealous of her little sister, in truth she didn't want to even admit she was jealous. But something in Inigo's voice made her feel like he understood.
"I asked about you," he ventured, "every day for nearly a month after we met. But mother always said you were too busy to see us."
The redhead laughed bitterly, "I was. After I got home mother punished me for embarrassing us as badly as I did. She was right to, of course, but I didn't really have time for anything else afterwards."
Her companion looked mystified, "I don't know what you did wrong. Mum acted like you hung the moon and dad brought you up almost every time I was naughty, telling me to act more like you."
She barked another laugh, "I think all parents do that. My mother kept telling me about how I needed to live up to what the Exalted family expected of me."
Inigo smiled; it was a beautiful thing. "Well, that makes us two peas in a pod I suppose," there was a confidence that came with that smile, "but at the very least, we shouldn't wait more than half a decade until we meet again."
She found herself nodding, even though she knew her parents would never allow it, "I'd like.." her voice caught in her throat, her gaze floating past Inigo to her side and towards the throng of dancers.
Princess Lucina was walking towards her.
She noticed the hair. The blue locks were arranged in a Feroxi style, most set back in a kerchief and tied into a ponytail, with her face framed with a pair of intricate braids.
She noticed the clothes, silks like the Queen's but dyed in the deep blue of the Exalted family hung from her shoulders and swept down 'til they met puffy breeches billowing out from dark, high foot sandals.
She noticed the scent; a light rose perfume mixed with the sweat from dancing.
But mostly she noticed her.
And she noticed her heart in her mouth. She struggled for air as time seemed to slow as the stunning princess took her hand. The bonfires, they were too close.
"My knight," the next Exalt said in those same musical tones Severa heard in her dreams.
"Princess," she managed to cough out. Far too close, she'd be burned, if she stayed she'd be..
Lucina frowned. She somehow managed to look more enchanting, "None of that Severa. You are my blade and I am your shield, but I would much rather we simply be friends."
Severa found herself pulled into a hug. She felt the pressure from Lucina's hands as hers uselessly flopped around the young Exalt's. She felt safe under that pressure. She could breathe as those hands stopped her chest from moving.
The bonfires returned to their posts, creeping away from her.
"I missed you," she found herself whispering in Lucina's ear. They'd spoken once.
Lucina responded by hugging her more fiercely. "Mother said you were busy for three months straight," the redhead could hear the grimace, "I tried to visit you on my own a few times, but the guards always caught me before I could leave the city."
Slowly, painfully slowly, the blue haired girl loosened her grip. Severa felt the loss, that wonderful pressure fading away. "I'm sorry," crept out of her mouth. "I can't imagine how much trouble you got into because of me."
The princess blushed slightly, "It wasn't all bad, I got locked in my room a few times, but running the guards around the city was fun! Besides, you should really apologise to Inigo, he got to the farms before being caught. I don't think he left his room for a month after that."
Severa rounded to stare at the boy, he'd never even mentioned anything of the sort!
She found emptiness.
He'd disappeared, fading somewhere into the shadows behind the bonfires perhaps, or maybe the throng of the dance.
"I'll find him later," she replied, slowly turning back to the older girl.
"He'll be happy for it, he couldn't stop speaking about you after you left," Lucina chuckled merrily, "Nobody could, you were the talk of the castle."
It was the red-haired girl's turn to blush, her cheeks turning as crimson as her twintails, "I didn't realise I created quite such an impression."
"How could you not? A girl who couldn't have been more than eight showing perfect manners at court, impressing both the King and Queen of Ylisse, nearly defeating me at chess and then disappearing as quickly as she arrived?" Lucina's eyes sparkled, "You really were like a knight from the stories. If a very small one," she conceded.
Severa's face took an even brighter shade under the onslaught of compliments, "It was nothing. Father and mother should have the credit. The trained me."
The princess beamed, "And still so modest. You would show these Feroxi boys a thing or two."
The younger girl cocked her head, "Feroxi boys? I've not met any, save for the one that's with Morgan over there."
The blue haired girl sighed, "Well for one, the Feroxi boy over there is my cousin Owain." Severa blinked, "He's half Feroxi, like me, Aunt Lissa,"
"-married a man from Ferox, Sir Lon'Qu, and together they have a son who's our age," the redhead interrupted as her father's lecture came back to her. She bit her lip in embarrassment, recalling that same name from their first encounter, "I should have known."
"From just that?" Lucina grinned, "you'd have to be clairvoyant."
Severa disagreed privately. Knowledge was everything. She knew the boy was Feroxi from his stance when he relaxed, but she should have known that blonde wasn't exactly a common hair colour for the region.
"In any case, he and Inigo are the only Feroxi boys who haven't been bothering me. You'd think that they'd realise after I declined the fourth one that fighting for the privilege to dance with me was a bad idea. But no, they keep at it." The princess looked back at the dance unhappily, "they're not even trained, I'm afraid someone might really get hurt and honestly it's insulting."
"Insulting?" Severa questioned.
"My honour is mine to give. Not someone's to take."
She nodded; she'd been fed stories by her mother when she was very young of brave knights and princesses. But she recognised now that Cordelia had always been careful. There were helpless princes, dashing ladies, a king being swept of his feet by a farmer. The school had betrayed that it wasn't a common education for little girls.
"Besides," Lucina continued, this time with a grin, "with some of their footwork, I think my feet would be stomped raw by the end of the evening. And anyway," her eyes looked mischievous, "I have a much better idea."
Severa felt a pull on her hand. Her legs worked automatically, keeping her upright as she was taken towards the revellers, "Wait Lucy, what are you doing?"
"Dancing with you of course! Who better to accompany a princess than her knight!"
She felt herself laugh, as her princess dragged her into the mob.
A step to the right, then twirl. Arms out, step to the left.
Severa sweated not from the movement but the pure concentration.
Feroxi dancing had more to it than there seemed on the surface. Yes, some were just moving to the music as best they could, but the group closest to the center were comprised primarily of young couples.
There was a fascinating rhythm to their movements. One moment in close, arms around each other, the next dancing seemingly away from their partners.
Lucina had started the redhead with the basics. Of when to be close and what to do when they parted. But she'd left Severa to try and colour in the rest.
The younger girl would have called it a disaster but her older partner was light on her feet, avoiding a misplaced shoe with the grace of a seasoned dancer. Severa supposed that would be natural for a princess who was also the daughter of a world-renowned performer. Still, it made her feel like an oaf, barely able to step in the right place, let alone complement the blue haired girl's twisting body.
Every so often, a Feroxi boy would try to interrupt and have to be gently sent away by the blue haired girl. One even tried to dance with Severa, which nearly earned him a punch to the gut until the older girl's timely intervention.
Abruptly the princess pulled her in, settling so they were cheek to cheek. The redhead flushed as she felt breath on her ear.
"Do you know the Feroxi style of swordplay?" her partner asked gently.
"Yes," was all the would-be dancer could manage as her mind drifted to the old Khan asking that self-same question years ago. She allowed a slight smile. Basilio had been so happy to hear that she knew it. She'd spent even more time practicing it over the years. She'd wanted the Feroxi warrior to be proud of her.
"I hoped so, Grandfather did say you were an excellent swordswoman." Grandfather?
"Imagine you're moving through the second sword kata," the bluenette prompted. Severa's feet automatically adopted a stance on the balls of her soles even as her hands stayed wrapped around Lucina.
"Start," was all she heard before her feet moved automatically.
The redhead struggled to describe what happened next. Suddenly her movements matched the beat of the drums, Lucina didn't have to adjust and instead matched her movements precisely. Until they came back to the start, cheek upon cheek, warm breath on her ear.
A light, musical, laugh came from her partner. "Now the same again, except we're going to separate and then move into the fifth afterwards."
Every minute, every hour, every day, every week of training. Every month of pain, year of hardship.
They were worth it.
They danced. They smiled. They were perfect. The princess' eyes shone as she introduced more complexity until they were whirling through the steps as if they had both been born Feroxi.
Idly Severa noticed that no Feroxi boys tried to interrupt them anymore. Instead, she caught the Exalt watching his daughter from the edge of the dance, a grin on his face.
As she spun her mother was speaking to the Queen, their eyes averted in a conspiratorial manner.
Another Severa, the one who had been standing by the bonfires looking in, would have tried to read into those looks. But this Severa, the one a princess' arms couldn't.
Her mind was desperately trying to burn this memory into her. Trying to etch this happiness into her soul.
She barely heard when the music stopped, only noticing as Lucina slowed and they were left facing each other in the silence. Mark of the Exalt reflecting the dimming firelight.
Her feet were sore, she was soaked with sweat, panting as she gasped for air she barely remembered to breathe.
She didn't want it to end.
The princess, her princess, as sweaty and tired as she was, looked around, then smiled slyly. "Come on Sev, I've got something I want to show you. If our parents find us now then I'm not sure we'll ever get the chance again."
And again, Severa let herself be pulled away.
It wasn't going to end.
Not just yet.
"Young lady, where do you think you're going?" A clear voice rang out into the darkness they raced towards.
The princess halted, bringing Severa to a stop next to her. She turned, stiffly.
"Mother, I…"
The face of the queen hardly resembled the nervous, almost shy person who had spoken earlier in the evening. Clearly, Olivia Lowell was not to be trifled with.
"You know how dangerous it is at night! And you! Severa Luna you were a model citizen the last time I met you, I'm so disappointed."
"It's not her fault!" Lucina interrupted, "She doesn't know where we're going. I just asked her to come with me. I wanted to take her to see Grandfather."
The dancer's expression softened immediately, "Ah," taking on a slight crouch as she furtively looked around to see if anyone else was watching them.
She caught her daughter's eyes, "Go."
Lucina looked bewildered, "Go?"
"You'll be punished tomorrow morning," the queen clarified.
"But you're letting us go," replied the princess.
"Yes. Now leave before I change my mind."
The girls didn't need any more encouragement. Lucina took her hand again and they hared off into the darkness.
Lucina's pace was quick, she'd brought a small light with her that illuminated the area in front of them, allowing the pair to easily lope up a hillock near the camp. The cold air was brisk, but the warmth from the dance and now the jog warded away the worst of it.
From this height a glance back revealed the camp below. The bonfires smouldered; dim suns surrounded by a sea of stars from the various fires that formed the various camps dotted around them.
Her parents were there somewhere on the South side, with Morgan and no doubt furious about her tardiness. Olivia was right, she'd be punished not just tomorrow, but likely for months afterwards.
Lucina's hair flowed in front of her, a sea of blue softly dancing under the glow of her light. Slowly, they crested the peak and found themselves at a small campsite, nestled by a tree.
There were blankets here already, weighed in place by stones and whilst the firepit didn't have fresh kindling, a sturdy log sat in its middle, ready to form the core.
Lucina had planned to come here, although judging by the amount of bedding available, the princess hadn't anticipated company.
The bluenette bent down, grabbing a flask she had stowed by the tree, but Severa was more shocked to see the "light" the princess had been carrying float to the firepit.
She watched fascinated as it landed on the log and then blinded as the log ignited, for lack of a better word into a roaring flame.
Lucina turned as she heard Severa's squeak in surprise. "I'm sorry, there was probably too much kick to that," she offered sheepishly. "My tutor says I'm not a particularly talented mage, but I should at least be able to do that without burning eyebrows off."
"No, it's my fault. I've never really seen anyone cast magic before," she replied.
The princess took a long swig from the flask, before offering it to Severa.
The redhead didn't question the contents, tipping it into her mouth, enjoying the fresh, cold water after her run.
"I thought Uncle Robin was meant to be one of the most renowned mages in Ylisse though," the older girl questioned as Severa finished her drink.
"He didn't want Morgan or I trying to copy him when we were too young," she replied. "Then he left us for the war so nobody ever thought to tutor us in it."
The princess nodded sadly, as she moved to sit with her back to the tree, raising the blanket up to her knees. "I'm sorry we did that to you," she apologised, "We knew Walhart wouldn't stop, even if we drove away the invasion of Ferox. But it was unfair to plunge so many children into a world without parents, even for a close ally." The older girl looked to the fire as the lights from the flames danced across her face.
Severa stood awkwardly, trying to avoid the princess' gaze.
Lucina looked up, smiling as a spark reflected in her eyes. She pushed the blanket aside and tapped the space next to her.
The younger girl blushed, but once again obeyed her princess' commands, sitting down in a ball.
An arm wrapped around her.
She melted.
"It's not your fault Lucy," the words came out, "You didn't make the decision."
She felt the arm tense, "One day, I will be the Exalt. The decisions my parents take now will affect the lives of the people for generations. They will affect the lives of people long after I die. They are my decisions as much as they are my father's"
"Walhart had to be stopped," she found herself replying, "I lived, it worked out."
The words felt hollow.
"Lucy," she said. "Who was your grandfather?"
The princess shifted slightly, arm tightening.
"This was his favourite place in Ferox."
The redhead looked out to sea of stars that expanded in front of them, both above and below.
She could understand why.
"He brought me here when I was very little. He didn't even tell mother where we were going, he said it was our secret."
She sighed.
"I think she must have known though. He would never have kept this place from her."
Severa knew.
"Grandfather Basilio said that you could see everything that was Ferox from here. He said that when he sat at this tree, he knew what Regna Ferox meant."
"Then the queen is?"
Lucina leaned her head so that it rested slightly on the younger girl's.
"Basilio's daughter by a Plegian," she completed. "At first, he lied because he was worried that revealing it might affect his standing as the next Khan. Then he lied because he was worried that a rival might strike at mother to get to him. Finally, he lied so that there wouldn't be issues with my succession in Ylisse."
Lucina chuckled softly, "But despite the lies, he loved us. He was a good man."
"He was a great man," the redhead corrected.
"Oh?"
"I only met him once, but in a few hours, he showed me kindness I've never felt before. Every day during the war, when I was scared, or angry or sad that my parents were gone, I'd remember his voice.
There were times, where I thought I'd be crushed and his advice lightened that load.
I wish I could tell him how thankful I was."
She felt tears welling in her eyes.
"Sev," she found the princess facing her. "He's proud of you."
She didn't know why she did it.
She angled her head ever so slightly upwards.
Her princess' eyes caught her own. Mark echoing the soft moonlight.
She leaned forwards, ever so slightly.
Her princess did the same.
Their lips brushed.
She pulled away, snuggling into the bluenette's arms as the gentle warmth of the fire, the rhythm of Lucina's heart and the memory of her princess' lips sent her into a wonderful sleep.