Severa's first memory of heartbreak came when she was fourteen.
Queen Olivia had been right. She'd been punished.
Her furious parents had explained, in detail, how badly she'd embarrassed them and Ylisse by galivanting off into the darkness.
She'd returned to a camp with search parties being prepared and the Exalt along with her father just about ready to start another war.
Confined to her room for weeks, only allowed to leave for training and housework, the redhead went months without even a visit to the village nearby.
It had been worth it.
It was still worth it. She'd see the princess again.
A furious slash bit at her neck as Cordelia unfolded into the viper strikes.
A parry averted the danger and muscling her mother's sword astray, Severa thrust with the wasp stings.
The older fighter sensed the threat and danced away, resetting their positions.
Her mother was among the most experienced warriors in the world. Whilst she specialised in fighting atop a pegasus she was as experienced on foot. A mount in a castle was, after all, likely to be more of a hinderance than a help.
A bead of sweat rolled down Severa's brow, the salty droplet passing her lips on its way to the ground.
Cordelia was experienced, absolutely, but Severa was experienced against her.
She knew her mother's fighting style well, perhaps too well in some ways.
Khan Basilio had been correct. Her mother was fast and incredibly precise but training for strength had given Severa an advantage. Yes, Cordelia was older, but even with more growing to do, Severa could handily win a deadlock. If she could force the older woman on the defensive then she'd eventually wear her opponent down.
At least that was the swordswoman's working theory. The superior speed and terrifying accuracy her mother displayed had bested the younger woman every time.
They'd argued a lot in recent months. Her mother disagreed with much of Khan Basilio's advice. Strength was no substitute for precision. Power, not a substitute for form.
Initially the older woman had tried to correct the mistakes as she saw them, asking for a slight adjustment here or a different stance there.
She was quick to realise that her lessons weren't sticking. Severa had pointedly listened to everything the older woman had said, filed it away and then opted not to use it.
Her mother blamed her long absence for the problem, claiming that Severa had become too independent before she'd been ready. But she didn't understand.
Cordelia was perfect. Every strike, every movement. Every single thing she did was effortless.
No matter how hard Severa worked, she would never replicate that technique.
She wasn't good enough.
But the old Khan had shown her another way.
The knight had resolved to beat the stubbornness out of the younger combatant. And thus far she'd given Severa a drubbing up and down the training yard.
But every bruise, every crack of the training blade had taught Severa something. Slowly she had built a picture, an image of her mother. Each thrust, each parry, each riposte, filled in that image. A little more colour each time. A little bit of depth here, a lighter shade there. She could see that impression even now. It leaned ever so slightly to the right even as her mother did the same.
Her world focused to a single point.
The image moved.
A dash.
Severa intercepted.
The beginnings of The Lynx Pounces at Night.
She swept her blade upwards, catching the attack.
Shock, the slight widening of her mother's eyes.
The image retreated.
The young swordswoman followed.
Cut the Silk, her mother favoured that form on the defensive.
It was met with Open the Fan, beating the sword away.
Another retreat, until the paving stones of the practice ground gave way to the weapon racks.
Cornered.
The image remained in Severa's mind. An illusory Cordelia searching for a way out even as the real one before her did the same.
Severa attacked. The Hatchet Swings, a hacking, powerful form to Cordelia's left side.
The older woman tried to contest the blow, but she didn't have the strength to push her daughter off balance.
The Hatchet Swings, again, the blow landed, blade on blade. She could feel her mother's grip failing.
She had her.
Sher had her!
The image had stopped moving, clinging hopelessly a grip that was going to come loose.
The Hatchet Swings.
The blade clattered to the ground.
She'd won.
She'd..
A boot impacted her stomach so hard she doubled over.
As the air blew out her lungs a knee landed square in her abdomen.
Vomit stained the grey stones of the yard.
She tried to look up, bile staining her chin, the acrid stench wafting into her nose.
A fist impacted her jaw.
All went black.
The healing magic caressed her to consciousness
Her eyes opened as the pain in her mouth subsided. She could breathe easily enough.
Abruptly it stopped and she was left with the dull throb of a pair of bruises.
Pain was a lesson, the price of her failures.
The victor stood over her, tying the healing staff to a loop at her side.
"You thought you had me," her mother began. "You were convinced if you just hit hard enough, I'd fall."
The older redhead clutched her left hand to her right arm, squeezing, hard. She was angry. "If you fight like a brute, if you act like a brute, I will treat you like a brute."
Severa forced herself to sit up and began to regain her footing slowly, ever so slowly.
"That was pathetic, strength is not a substitute for precision," that mantra was getting old. "If you thought for a moment that beating my sword like an animal would work, that I'd be enough of an amateur to lose my grip, then you're far less advanced than I thought."
The knight turned her back, making her way to the weapon stands, "Clean the floor, then yourself. You're not fit to train any more today."
Severa glared at the figure walking away from her.
That surprise when the swordswoman had been intercepted hadn't been feigned. The kick had been desperation, not a plan.
Her mother was wrong.
The younger warrior hadn't anticipated the blow. She'd not believed her mother would resort to it to avoid a loss. In real combat, an errant kick could lose a leg. The selfsame person had taught that very lesson.
The teacher would adapt now. Severa would not be able to use that method again.
But she was close. For a moment, she'd seen fear in those eyes.
She would see it again.
"It's not fair."
Severa lay in her bed. Her jaw throbbed. The bruise had taken on a sickly yellow tint as the day had gone on.
"I said it's not fair!"
Severa groaned, looking to her sister, seated awkwardly on a desk chair. Huddled in a ball, the snowy haired girl clutched a black stuffed pegasus to her chest, its button eyes looking on sympathetically.
Her room was sparsely decorated, a box of oak walls. A sturdy but small wooden bed with pristine white sheets sat beside a window that let the soft moonlight into the room. Her walls were bare, a single shelf, with books occupying an area above her writing desk. Painted green, the table sported an indented corner for her stationary and jauntily added a little colour to the room.
"It doesn't matter if it's fair, I lost, I took a beating. That's the way." Severa had known the price of failure when she took her shot. There was no point dwelling on it.
But that didn't deter her optimistic sibling, "Severa, mother beat you half to death, for what? Just so she could prove to you that she's the better swordswoman?"
"She's trying to teach me Morgan," the younger girl couldn't see it. She couldn't understand that their mother was frustrated because she was being ignored.
"No, she isn't! There's a difference between teaching and whatever that was," her sibling continued to object. "She's never that harsh on me. Nor is father for that matter."
Severa left the obvious unsaid. They weren't harsh on Morgan because Morgan never did anything wrong. Oh, there were mishaps…
"Last month I almost burned down the house when I tried to read that Fire tome and they set me in my room for a day or two!"
Like that for example.
"You've been stuck here for months and for what, going on a date with the Princess of Ylisse?"
"It wasn't a date!" the redhead interrupted quickly. Too quickly.
"I saw the way you looked at each other." Her sister grinned, "A blind person could have seen it."
Severa felt her face take on a shade that was very similar to her hair, "Shut up idiot!" was all she managed before burying her head in her pillow.
Knowing she'd struck a nerve, Morgan pressed her advantage, "You went out with the Princess of Ylisse for one night, surrounded by Feroxi soldiers and they kept you in your room for a month and haven't let you out anywhere in nearly half a year!" the younger girl's toes wriggled as if from the injustice of it all.
"I nearly killed us and I got a single week. It. Is. Not. Fair." It was an exaggeration; a few books had been singed and one unfortunate quill pen now lacked a feather.
Her younger sister was right though. It wasn't fair, by design. Morgan was a genius, so unbelievably talented that stifling her creativity even a little to discipline her was likely to do far more damage than it would help.
Her nature meant that discipline was rarely needed anyway. Naga bless her sister, but she was never malicious. She caused mischief, but her troubles were borne of curiosity more than anything else. But more than all of that, she was empathetic, almost to a fault. Even at this moment she was raring to walk down the hall to give her parents a telling off for something she thought was wrong.
Severa would protect that innocence with her life.
"They're harsh because they love us."
They love you.
"But.." her sister almost started up again.
"Morgan it's okay. I promise I'm fine," she insisted, sitting up. She managed the best approximation of a smile that she could muster with her face marred as it was. "Now, you need to get some rest. I hear you almost beat father today; you know he'll have his guard up tomorrow. He even told me that if you won, he'd begin teaching you magic properly."
Predictably that won her sibling over. The temptation of knowing just a little more was enough to persuade her that rest was needed.
Slowly, the feathery haired girl crept to her feet, setting Moonlight, the pegasus, down and creeping across the room for a hug.
Severa returned it, squeezing tight.
"If it ever gets too much," Morgan whispered, "I'll leave with you."
It was almost enough to bring a tear to her eye.
"I love you, Morgan."
"Love you too, Sev."
Severa eyed the board. Her pawn structure was a mess, she was down on material and she'd be on increment soon if she took much longer to think.
Her father sat opposite her, relaxed as his dark eyes focused on her. His signature purple cloak hung from the chair he lounged at, a crisp white shirt contrasting the black pieces on his side of the board.
It went well with his hair, the redhead decided, as she cast her eyes over the board for an out.
There wasn't one and another was unlikely to come.
With a resigned sigh, she extended a finger and toppled her King.
"You should play for the draw," her father offered with a frown. "Even if,"
"You're losing there's still hope," Severa completed. As if she hadn't heard that phrase a thousand times.
If anything, the tactician's expression became more severe. "You've started conceding more frequently recently," he moved to begin collecting his pieces as if to reset the game. "Is there something wrong?"
Severa nodded, slowly, "I can't win."
Her father grinned, "Severa you're barely into your teens, it took me years to learn all of this."
"You don't understand. I can't win, ever."
This gave Robin pause.
Perhaps it was the ache of the yellowing bruise on her face, perhaps it was because it was too hot and her own shirt was itching or perhaps it was because her father had actually asked after her wellbeing for once, but Severa found herself speaking, rather than curling back in on herself.
"I don't see what you're trying to teach me anymore. I know every opening, all the theory, but I just can't see the patterns you're putting together." She felt herself lighten with that statement, "You ask me after every game what I can learn and I'm able to put together what happened afterwards, but I just don't see it in the game." Severa paused, inhaling as if that would help her composure.
"I haven't been getting better. Not for a long time. Not even after you started teaching me again." The truth, "I don't see the point in wasting your time when Morgan needs you more."
To his credit, her father didn't immediately respond. He took a moment, absorbing what his trainee had just told him.
After a moment, a grin, the same grin she saw on Morgan came over the tactician's face.
"Sometimes I forget how strongly you take after your mother Severa. Oh, don't give me that look," he responded immediately to her glare, "that tap on the face is proof if nothing else."
He looked, almost wistfully at the board. "You know, she once flipped this board when we were playing. We'd only been dating for a little while and she got frustrated when she couldn't win. She could be so stubborn."
The grin disappeared, but a slight smile remained. "I'm glad you told me this," he said, clasping his hands in a ball as he leaned with his elbows on the table. "I should have seen what was happening earlier myself, I would have almost certainly caught it had the war not taken me away."
The redhead was dumbfounded, she'd expected an explosion, not understanding.
Slowly her father began clearing the board, "You play like a teacher. As you say, anything that's been written in a book you know by heart and your early play is near perfect. But the moment I'm able to deviate, you begin to lose the thread of the game," his tone felt, lighter. "In a way, the reason your little sister is so good at chess is because of this. She learnt everything in a book from you and had the rest of her time to spend understanding what came next."
The teenager felt a little pride at that. Knowledge that she'd helped her sister in some meaningful way.
"Your mother had the same problem. You know she can memorise the contents of almost any book at a glance. So, she was near unbeatable among the pegasus knights she trained with. When I came along, she didn't know what to do," he eyed the board as he folded it away, "well, apart from flip the board."
He sighed, "It would take a lot of time to get you thinking the way that you need to win. A lot of your instincts are wrapped up in the way you learned. In that way chess is too complex for you now."
The redhead looked to the table; she'd been right. It still stung.
"But, it's also too simple."
A look up. "What?"
"The game is too binary. Especially when you only have three real opponents, two if you exclude your mother. It's difficult to tell if you're getting better when the only options are winning and losing," Severa looked quizzically at him, "Well and a draw," he corrected, "you know what I mean."
Drawing himself upright, Robin leaned over his desk and pick up the board. His office was one of the smaller rooms in the house, with the desk dominating the space, but it was packed with wooden shelves of figures, weapons and books. Maps and scrolls hung from anywhere that had space for them, a mess of memories and souvenirs from around the world. For a man who was ordinarily so meticulous, it seemed far too disorganised.
Her father deposited their board on a shelf and from the same shelf, carefully, oh so carefully, withdrew a large, polished wooden box. "So, we're going to play something else."
He laid it on the table delicately and removed the top.
Inside Severa could see intricately carved models. A set of five swordsman sat in a corner, hands on the hilts of their blades, ready to draw. A knight with a long lance sat astride a Pegasus with polished stone wings, carved so that each feather seemed like it might belong on a tiny bird.
There was even a small dragon, or perhaps a manakete inside, eyes carved in such a way that belied an intelligence not common to any simple beast.
The tactician withdrew each item, setting them on stands made with them in mind.
From beneath, he pulled away a panel on the box to reveal more figures. They had been carved with as much care but their stance varied in some ways. She could see fighters with swords and axes, but their expressions seemed more aggressive, feral in some ways.
She caught a healer holding a curved staff in the crook of his arm and what looked to be a dark mage in the beautiful silks of Plegia.
She couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship as the figures were set in an array before her. Each seemed to have a stance that implied a story about their creation. This must have cost a fortune to buy or commission, probably why her father had kept it hidden away for so long.
She caught a slight smile from the tactician as he watched her examine each model with care. Grudgingly the redhead did admit that she had more in common with her mother, despite the bruises. She preferred training outside to being cooped up in her father's office and often his questions and comments about politics in Ylisse would wash over her. She retained the important points but she found it hard to care.
It was nice to know that they could appreciate the same things, even if she didn't understand their purpose.
"From now on we will play games with these," so they were like chess pieces then? "We will play on larger board, it will still have gridlines, but there'll be more room to manoeuvre. Each piece has individual characteristics you'll need to learn. The pegasus," Robin tapped the figure for emphasis, "is fast and can move across many squares, but lacks high attack and is vulnerable to bows. The mage," the tactician pointed to a small lady sporting a very large hat, "is slow and weak to physical attacks, but has range and can pierce defenses easily." He grinned at her, "we each will take a turn to move a piece and should pieces come into range of one another, we'll calculate damage using the offensive and defensive attributes we have assigned."
Severa nodded pensively, like chess, after a fashion. Her father continued, "What chess taught you was how to memorise and copy. Those skills have their value, yes. But they're too rigid." Robin took a brutish warrior wielding an axe by the base holding it up between his thumb and the tips of his fingers, "This will teach you flexibility and creativity. No one battle will be the same and nobody will have written anything about how to play correctly."
Severa stared at the warrior, his eyepatch hiding half an expression that stared as intently back at her.
"You have those qualities in you, my daughter. Just let them out."
The bald warrior maintained his stare.
"I won't let you down," she whispered.
Ylisse castle hadn't changed much in the years since she lasted visited. It stood, picturesque in the center of the city, atop a hill, surrounded by walls that encircled the grounds and what might have been a small village of houses.
It was beautiful, white stone, with fluted spires stretching to the sky. Somewhere among them was Lucina's room. Severa could imagine the princess staring out from there onto the city, taking in the majesty of Ylisstol. A rainy evening perhaps, watching as dots of fire or magical light moved quickly through the streets.
A discerning eye could tell it was a castle made for war. Gatehouses along the path to the walls would provide staging posts for assaults beyond the barricades, no doubt housing secret passages for troops and supplies. The walls were dotted with tiny windows for archers to safely fire from and even now catapults stood atop them, ready to fire on invaders.
The commonfolk of Ylisstol wouldn't have known or cared. Their smiling faces made it feel like war was unlikely to see them ever again.
And who was to argue with them? Ylisse had won crushing victories abroad, first against their hated neighbour Plegia and then farther against the tyrant Walhart, said to have been undefeatable. Trade was excellent, the benefits of intercontinental commerce beginning to take effect. Dotted among the more common Feroxi flags were those of Chon'sin and Roseanne, welcome intruders on streets that used to be decorated purely with the colours of Ylisse's staunchest ally.
As they approached the castle, the style of dress changed, from simple shirts and breeches to finer silks, freshly imported from Valm. The buildings changed colour from the simple greys of stone to the brighter reds of brick and mortar. In the window of a nearby store, a well to do merchant, or perhaps even a lowborn noble, examined the quality of a golden ring, inset with a ruby. The jeweller excitedly gestured, presumably extoling the craftsmanship behind the piece.
Yes, the castle might not have changed much, but Ylisstol and perhaps Ylisse itself were changing quickly.
Severa considered how much she had changed since her last visit. She certainly wouldn't have noticed or cared about trade or buildings. She'd barely been a child back then, excited beyond belief simply to get to meet the royal family, to see the princess in person.
That at least hadn't changed.
She'd scarcely thought of anything else in the past six months. Waking to her princess cradling her head. A smile, a blush and then comfortable silence as they'd cleared their camp and returned to their punishments.
She wanted to speak to her princess, see her smile and hear her laugh. She wanted to feel that effortless comfort, that carefree happiness again.
A little part of her wanted a lot more than that.
But that wasn't what she was here for today. Perhaps, if she was afforded the time, she might be able to visit Lucina. But today was about training, as almost every day was.
Severa tugged uncomfortably at her cloak. She didn't like being dressed this way; the linen fabric of her tunic itched. But her mother, walking with her through the capital had insisted.
A purple cloak, embossed with a pink pattern resembling eyes down the sleeves hung loosely around her shoulders. Her white tunic tucked into baggy trousers held in place by a wide brown belt. Looking in the mirror earlier today, she'd looked the picture of her father, a tactician in her own right.
She was aware that clothes didn't make the person, her tactics drills made that plain with decisive loss after decisive loss to her name so far. But her mother had insisted that she come to the castle looking the part she intended to play.
For her own role, the Lady of House Luna was playing up that part today. Severa could nearly see her face in the silver breastplate that had been polished to a mirror shine. Pegasi decorated the armour near the collar, their feathers falling across the front, landing at the base, contrasted by the bright red breaches that denoted the wartime commander of Ylisse's Pegasus Knights.
The knight cut an impressive figure, more so when flanked by Severa on her right and Morgan on her left. The snowy haired girl was dressed identically to Severa, but where Severa would have preferred her mother's attire in a heartbeat, Morgan had instantly been enamoured with her clothes. Bouncing left and right as she made her way to the first gatehouse, she seemed at home in the robes, taking time every so often to shake an arm or a leg and giggle at how the cloak whipped back and forth as if to accentuate her movements.
Severa didn't like knowing her feet might get caught if she ran, that someone might grab at her cloak and yank her away. It felt like a weakness to be exploited. She'd have far preferred to dress like her mother, or even better, like normal, in her tan tunic and breeches, preferably with some solid boots instead of the finely decorated ones she wore now.
But if she was to learn magic, then dressing as a mage was only appropriate. Or at least that was what her mother said. That and the first impression was the only impression. Be seen as someone of status and importance the first time and even if you fell low, people would remember that once, once you had power.
Severa couldn't understand the insistence on the particular style of clothing though. Perhaps the additional weight, the rippling fabric, meant that you had to exaggerate gestures more, leading to more reliable casting? But surely seasoned mages would never miscast anyway?
Perhaps it was simply that they preferred the look. The redhead couldn't have denied that she was immune to that call. The first time her mother had grabbed one of her twintails for an advantage, she'd considered cutting her hair short. But she'd not brought herself to it, nor oddly, had her mother insisted that she get rid of them. They felt oddly defiant in a way, a small part of her that wasn't being forged into the perfect weapon.
As they entered the first gatehouse they paused. Lady Luna was recognised on sight of course, with the guardsman on shift bowing obsequiously at almost every other sentence. For her part, her mother took time to speak to the man, referring to Guardsman Lieutenant Benedict by name and asking if his son was in good health. The middle-aged man beamed at being remembered, stroking his long brown moustache and insisting that his son, Roland, was doing well and that it was oh so kind of Lady Luna to ask after him.
It was calculated, of course. Her mother's memory was perfect, every name, every face was filed away in case it came in handy later. You never knew when knowing a guard, a baker, a plumber or even a beggar might be useful and if you made people feel like you cared in the process, all the better. Her mother had instilled that idea in them across the past few months, knowing that they would soon be acclimatising to life in the capital. The older woman didn't insist that her two daughters remember every detail she did, but she'd told them to keep an eye out for faces and write down names when they got home.
The process continued as they passed through each gatehouse, three in total before coming to the castle proper. Severa could swear that the guardsmen became even more enthusiastic as they got closer, with the third almost insisting that they take an armed escort across the hundred meters to the main gates.
The gates themselves weren't too imposing. They towered, but held open as they were, they felt welcoming. A few other teenagers in robes were filing into the entrance. No doubt there for the same reason as she.
Ylisse had a problem. The war with Valm had taken nearly every able-bodied man and woman abroad. But more to the point, it had taken every single mage available. Magical aptitude wasn't rare, but the children of practicing mages always took to the arcane more readily than anyone else.
In the years of the Valm war many teenagers had manifested powerful magical abilities but had lacked anyone to train them. Left to their own devices a generation of mages would see their skills go to waste, healthy crops being allowed to rot because the farmer was away.
It had been, perhaps unsurprisingly, her father that had proposed a solution. Anyone who was magically gifted had been invited to train at the castle. The uptake so far hadn't been incredible. Magic was meant to be taught by family rather than by schools, so the idea had been met with suspicion from the general populace. But it showed some promise. At the very least, the veterans of the Valmese war had all chosen to send their children and just as unsurprisingly her mother and father had insisted that the Luna siblings attend.
She was a little more comfortable with magic now, even if the robes bothered her. Knowing that this arrangement was falling into place, her father had chosen to teach the basics but leave more advanced work to the classes. Magecraft was a discipline that the tactician was rumoured to have mastered at a young age, but he'd been certain that his daughters would benefit from a wide variety of tutors in this area.
It was a little unnerving after he'd been so insistent that he personally tutor them for so long in tactics. But equally she wasn't about to complain, especially as she entered the grand reception and she felt her breath catch as she took it in.
A young Severa had been too caught up in the stature of the Exalt and the majesty of his wife to take in the detail.
But this Severa saw the tapestries hanging from galleries that overlooked the throne. The fine porcelain cups that adorned white tables that dotted the edges of the room. From the high ceiling hung chandeliers, sporting the most delicate crystals reflecting and refracting light that streamed in from windows of stained glass that overtopped the balconies. The steps that led up, across from the entrance, ended in a pair of double doors that would take visitors to the throne room itself.
Servants clad in tabards bearing the blue and white of Ylisse glided from table to table, some proffering glasses of water or wine, others offering a selection of cheeses and cured meats to the guests that were gathering. There was a sense of pride in the way they conducted themselves. Backs straight, heads held high, they made sure that no cup remained empty for long but from the respect the guests gave them, it was clear that their service was appreciated.
The mood was merry, if a little tense, as oddly attired teens hovered near parents who were delighted to be seeing each other again. No robes truly matched, although Severa spied a dark-haired girl in a purple cloak that was at least somewhat like her own. The near scandalous body stocking she wore within however, was distinct, marking her as a Plegian. A jump as she attempted to cover herself up indicated that these weren't clothes that she was used to or particularly enjoyed wearing.
Severa took a moment to memorise the Plegian girl's face. Whilst tactician's daughter wanted to meet Lucina first, she sensed a kindred spirit in this would-be mage and at the very least she'd try to speak with her once.
Her train of thought was interrupted however as a flash of white indicated that something had caught her sister's eye. Both redheads watched as the younger girl nearly tackled a trainee mage off his feet.
Owain laughed as he caught his friend in a fierce hug and from the look of it wasted nearly no time in launching into explanations and exhortations of his incredible deeds from the past few months. Morgan stood rapt, nearly vibrating with excitement as she started to pepper the young prince with inquiries.
Severa eyed her mother, waiting for permission. The older woman relented, giving a nod before walking away herself to speak with a lady with luxurious long brown hair styled with a pink bow and ringlets framing her face. Her uniform mirrored Cordelia's, but where Cordelia primarily wore red, the older, Severa suspected, lady wore shades of pink and purple. Idly, Severa speculated that her mother's friend was Sumia, wing commander of the Ylissean Pegasus knights. It was an odd system, in times of peace she outranked Cordelia, but in times of war she'd have to defer to the other knight's advice.
Of course, the departure left Severa alone, glancing around for sight of her princess.
Unable to immediately find her target, Severa floated slowly to an empty table, leaning against the nearby wall and watching along as her family spoke to their friends. She'd speak to the dark-haired girl soon, after she'd had a moment to herself. That was all she needed. Definitely.
It was more crowded than she'd expected. A lot of talented children with a lot of interested parents. Perhaps the parents were more interested in seeing old friends again though, from the way that they had so easily fallen back into routine. In a way it should have been unsurprising. They'd abroad at war for much longer than they'd been with their children since their return.
Her thoughts were interrupted however as a figure caught her attention, making his way toward her. The shock of grey hair identified him, but beyond that he was nearly unrecognisable.
Inigo wore a tight-fitting tunic in a light blue, contrasting trousers of grey, like his hair, and brown leather boots. A white cape flared behind him as he walked, wearing a sword at his hip as if he'd been born with it.
The gangly and nervous boy she'd once known was gone. A young man had replaced him.
Inigo had grown into the limbs that had once seemed too big for him. Instead of slouching he embraced his height, back straight, stride confident. He was noticeably taller than her now and wore the sword at his hip with an ease that made him seem like a veteran of years. The sheathe was understated, a brown like his boots, as if he didn't need anything elaborate to distract from his grace.
He wasn't muscular in the same way the Exalt was, yet his gait reminded her of his father
Not a young man, a prince.
And then he smiled.
Severa felt her breath catch.
It wasn't the reassuring smile of his sister or the calming grin his mother adopted. This smile felt like happiness. She could feel the joy radiating from him, the sheer pleasure in that singular moment. It was stunning. It was dazzling.
It was fake.
The redhead frowned as the prince dropped to one knee, taking her hand and kissing it in one practiced motion before looking up at her, that false smile plastered on his face.
"Lady Luna, it is a pleasure to see you return to the palace," he said rising back to his feet. "You are even more beautiful than the last time I saw you."
Severa felt her heart skip as he complimented her, but forced stillness to her expression, gazing at him levelly, "Inigo what on earth do you think you're doing?"
A look of confusion, "Whatever do you mean Severa? You do look more beautiful than ever," he replied, as if the emphasis would somehow help.
"If you're not going to speak to me seriously then I'd appreciate if you just tell me where Lucina is," she responded coolly.
His expression faltered for a moment, a crack revealing her Inigo. It was gone in a flash, replaced by this imposter, "My lovely sister is attending to other matters of state right now, she'll be able to attend the class, but unfortunately she's not going to be able to entertain guests ahead of time."
Severa didn't school her disappointment. Inigo likely knew what had happened between her and the princess. "Ah," was all she managed.
"If I may, perhaps you'd be willing to speak with me a little longer before we get started?" he gestured to the nearby table. "Perhaps over some water or tea?"
Severa sighed, weighing whether being alone would be better than trying to deal with whatever this false Inigo was. With a slight roll of her eyes, she turned towards the table, an enthusiastic prince at her side.
His cascade of compliments continued as they spoke. Every superlative lessening the meaning of his words. It was strange how this Inigo seemed able to speak constantly to no effect when the nervous boy she'd known had whispered to her heart so easily. Any questions about what had happened to him were met with the same consistent confusion, as if he'd always been this way.
At least he was pleasant to look at, although even that seemed diminished by his ridiculous platitudes.
She was at the very least able to get something of an update in between comments on how well styled her hair was and how gorgeous her eyes were. The Queen had been furious when Lucina returned as only a performer of her skill could be. Her punishment, the confinement of the princess for a month was protested by Chrom as being too tough, but his wife was having none of it.
Of course, that same punishment was lessened in a week as Olivia, performatively, apologised for being so angry. In doing so the wiley dancer had Lucina's isolation reduced to ten days when left to his own devices the Exalt might have been harsher.
The siblings had gone back into their studies soon after Lucina's release. Inigo's focus had been on the sword, training furiously to catch up with his sister who he claimed moved as if she was born to wield the Falchion. Lucina had begun to split her concentration; swordsmanship was a priority but her education on the management of Ylisse had begun in earnest.
Severa nodded at that. Her own education in those matters had been broad, if not deep. An Exalt or an advisor didn't need to understand every intricacy of grain supplies or drainage costs, but they did need to know what questions to ask.
As she was updating Inigo on just how the wood of her bedroom wall had chipped over the past month, they were interrupted by the arrival of her father, striding from the throne room and down the steps into the reception. Clad in the same robes as his daughters, he seemed at home, every ripple of fabric giving an extra emphasis to his movements.
But Severa's sole focus was drawn to the girl in tow next to him.
Unlike her brother, the months hadn't changed her princess. Her hair was loose, cascading in waves past her shoulders, blending with the deep blues of her tunic and breeches. A cape like Inigo's flowed in her wake, attached at her shoulders by pins of a deep gold. The stitching bore the same gold, which was present on patterns and adornments throughout her outfit. They served to accentuate and offset the blues, providing the little contrast needed to bring the robes to life. And they matched her simple tiara, on full display for the crowd to see. Oddly she didn't wear a sword, although Severa wondered if Inigo bearing one for a magic lesson had been the true oddity.
As the redhead took in display, Lucina spared her a glance and then a furtive smile.
Her face heated immediately, even as she shyly smiled back. They'd speak soon. It was enough.
The practice yard where the lessons took place felt familiar. Severa realised that the space outside her house had been modelled on this.
The same grey stones tiled the floors, with low walls around the yard and entrances back into the castle at the sides. Galleries topped those walls, for anyone who wanted to observe everything from above.
Most of the weapon racks had been cleared to the sides for the day and whilst there were a few training dummies available, sporting hats to indicate them as enemy mages, they hadn't seen much use so far.
Instead, today's lesson was about control. Magic lay within every man and woman within the world. Typically, though, most could only learn to utilise its power through decades of study and in the same way some people were better at running, some would end up more powerful than others. Mages were a rarity; few possessed the patience for the discipline and fewer still ended up wielding real power when they finally realised their potential.
There was one notable exception. The children of mages were able to tap into that latent power instinctively. Many would begin learning how to cast basic spells on their own and without guidance might end up a danger.
Today was about control. It was about teaching these teenagers to concentrate their emotions and draw upon the wellspring of power they held within.
That lesson was easier for some than others.
Whilst Severa didn't have incredible latent powers, or so her father claimed, what she did have was focus. A control over herself borne of years of training. The same state of flow she sometimes felt as she worked the sword was the key to understanding magic.
These basic lessons came easily to her. Produce a flame, move it from hand to hand, extinguish the flame, repeat. Some might have called it boring, but she liked the simplicity, the rhythm. Slash up, slash down, slash left, slash right, repeat. She'd done it thousands of times.
As she practiced, she eyed her mother watching from the sides, in conversation with a raven-haired beauty dressed in the same Plegian clothing she'd seen on the shy girl from earlier. Where the body stocking had looked out of place on the younger girl, the older woman looked like she belonged in it, gesturing confidently as the dark fabric clung to every curve, contrasting her pale skin. Gold fabric accentuated the look, common for most Plegian mages as far as Severa knew, embossing a belt that fit snugly around her hips and forming patterns on the edges of a dark cape. From what she knew of her parents, she suspected that this was Tharja, a dark mage who had switched sides during the height of the war with Gangrel.
They were speaking amicably it seemed, every so often pointing out something in the yard, perhaps a flame that was a little too big or a pass that was a little too slow.
But the redhead felt an edge from the conversation. Cordelia laughed too much and made too much over how beautiful her partner looked while the Plegian's responses were bubbly in a way that made Severa feel awkward. She suspected that whilst neither would say they disliked the other, they'd be fine with never seeing the other again.
They relaxed as her father joined them however, the knight making a fuss over his cloak and planting a quick kiss on his cheek whilst Tharja asked after his health and reminded him not to miss sleep.
She refocused on the exercises, produce, pass extinguish, trying to complete the action faster each time. Inigo and Lucina were training separately from the others, judged too advanced for such basic classes and Morgan was busy trying to singe a tall red-haired boy's nosehairs.
Severa didn't mind the solitude. It was like being at home. A single point of attention, awareness of…
A tap on her shoulder.
Severa wheeled.
She reached for her sword.
It wasn't there.
She looked for a weapon.
She drew back a fist.
There was a scared girl.
Severa exhaled, dropping her hand and taking in the cowering figure.
The Plegian girl from earlier was nearly shaking with fear.
"Please don't hurt me!" she squeaked.
Severa slowly tried to put her hands in her pockets, finding inconvenient robe instead.
Opting to clasp them behind her back instead, she tried to smile, "Nobody's going to hurt you, least of all me."
The girl looked doubtful, tears almost welling in her brown eyes.
The swordswoman sighed, "Look, if I'm concentrating and someone taps me on the shoulder, I assume the worst."
The shaking continued.
"If I swear I'm not going to hurt you, will you at least tell me your name?" she asked.
"Noire" the girl stammered out. "My name's Noire." That alone seemed like it took more effort than the small girl could manage.
Severa tried to shoot her a smile, one that was reassuring, "Well Noire, will you at least tell me why you tapped me on my shoulder?"
"I," Noire stuttered. Perhaps the smile had been more terrifying than reassuring, "I need help with my magic. Uncle Robin said I should ask you." A shuddering hand raised with a single finger pointing at her father, still in merry conversation with his wife and Tharja.
Severa felt a slight grin. The tactician had said she was a good teacher. Clearly, he believed it if he was pawning off his students on her.
Noire couldn't have been more than a year younger than her but the way she stood, hunched as if been seen alone was terrifying, made the Plegian seem like a child, cowering under an adult's gaze. Oddly, Severa felt a kinship with the girl. Sometimes the world was too much, there were too many walls, too little air. She imagined how terrifying it might have been to feel threatened by a punch and felt a little more sympathy there. Her own life had been far from normal.
She took Noire's hand, giving it a squeeze. The girl relaxed under the warmth and slight pressure. Severa smiled, that had been a hunch, "Of course Noire, why don't you tell me the exact part you're having trouble with."
Noire looked up, soot black hair covering her eyes slightly, squeezed them shut and started to explain.
It wasn't particularly troublesome; Noire was having trouble concentrating. It was foreseeable given her nature, with so many new people, sights and sounds, cutting them all away would have been an incredibly difficult task.
Predictably, a simple explanation didn't help. It was like telling someone to swim better when they didn't know how.
But there was a different course.
"Noire is there anything you like to do when you're alone? Just by yourself?" the twintailed girl inquired.
Slowly her dark-haired student nodded, "I like practicing archery. Mother says it's useless but Uncle Robin said it was okay to learn how, so I practice when she doesn't need me for her work."
Excellent. Severa had thought she would need to make do with a household task or reading perhaps. A weapon would make this much easier.
The redhead had never been an outstanding archer, but she knew the basics well, as she did with all conventional weapons.
She took a position behind Noire, grasping her student by the shoulders, turning her to face one of the targets on the far side of the courtyard. Briefly she looked to ensure that there wasn't anyone in her path.
"Imagine that you're aiming at that target with your bow," Severa raised Noire's hands into position and her student took her cue, pretending she had a bow there.
"Tell me, what do you see?" she asked.
"The target," her student responded automatically. That spoke of experience.
"Good, imagine as you draw the string that you are the bow. It's not a thing you're holding," she clarified, "It's you. You are the bow and as that string draws, all you're doing is feeling that tension in your body." Severa's own muscles clenched slightly, "That tension is heat. Feel that warmth in your ligaments, in every fibre of your being."
The hands on her student's shoulder felt tension, a string drawn. There was stability, her student's aim would not falter.
"Now let go."
A burst of flame lanced from her student's hands, an arrow of fire that streaked forward and faded abruptly to nothingness a foot away from her. A trainee mage, no matter how talented wasn't going to produce a true fireball on her first attempt, especially absent a tome.
Noire stood, dumbfounded for a moment.
Then she let out a cheer, turning and throwing herself into her teacher's arms. Severa let out a laugh, feeling her own arms cuddle her student.
Across the courtyard her father favoured her with a smile and an approving nod.
She had never loved him more.
The walk to Lucina's room was much as Severa remembered. Surprisingly Robin had given his assent for the two of them to spend a little time with each other after class, rather than insisting that Severa head home to continue other training immediately.
The swordswoman didn't know what she'd done to deserve such favourable treatment, but as she watched the blue hair in front of her bounce with a nervous excitement, she decided that she wasn't going to question good fortune.
Lucina's room sat in one of the upper spires, up a pair of winding stairs. They had been designed with the last defense of the castle in mind, slits in the walls for soldiers to poke spears through, narrow enough that only a single man would be able to stand abreast and swing a sword. But they were decorated lovingly, with tapestries showing arms of different houses of Ylisse aligning the walls. Severa idly searched for signs of House Luna but found herself wanting. Luna was small, even if its current members were renowned.
As they finished their climb, Severa took her position at her princess' side, restraining herself from a smile as Lucina glanced over at her.
They'd not spoken on the way up. It felt a little odd, usually her princess was unencumbered with formality. But Severa could feel the nerves, the anticipation.
For months, the memory of soft lips haunting her dreams, the thought of those safe arms pushing her through each day.
They finally, finally reached the door. Dark oak creaking open as they both entered and Severa took the same spot on Lucina's desk chair that she had all those years ago.
Her princess turned to her.
"Lucy,"
"Sev,"
They both spoke, then stuttered as they interrupted one another.
Tentatively Severa opened her mouth again.
"I missed you," was all she could manage.
Her princess smiled, but it wasn't her usual smile, the one that had taken the knight's heart.
"Sev, what happened at Grandfather's funeral was a mistake."
It was one of sadness. "What?" the knight croaked.
"We can't, be with each other, romantically."
She'd messed it up.
"One day, I will be the Exalt."
She wasn't enough.
"It means I'll have to marry for Ylisse."
She'd wasn't good enough.
"And I don't want to lead you on."
She'd never be good enough.
"But it's best we stop it now, so it doesn't hurt as much."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't mind," she found herself saying, "I don't care if you marry someone else, just keep me with you. I don't care if I'm second best."
"No."
Lucina looked angry.
"I will not give someone half of my heart. I will not insult you by having you take scraps. When I love someone, I will love them with my whole heart and nothing else."
Severa's mouth opened. Words formed. Nothing came out.
She'd needed to be perfect.
Perfect for the perfect princess.
The oak door closed behind her.
The stairs gave way to the corridor.
Her father in the reception.
"Did something happen?"
Sobbing into his cloak.
"You loved her, didn't you?"
Safe arms wrapped around her.
Notes:
So this ended up coming out in about the same out of time it took Chapter 3 which is good!
I don't know if I'm going to keep the pace with Chapter 5, it's coming along but there's a lot more to go and potentially a need to restructure the remaining chapters in my head.
I'm trying very hard to ensure that this story is never too crushing. Chapter 4's beginning and ending are both really harsh but hopefully there's enough levity and happiness in between for everyone to feel okay.
As always I really do crave feedback on this. How's my writing? This Chapter represents a pretty big change in the writing style. I felt as Severa got older she'd get more descriptive and it's an area I felt was lacking from earlier chapters anyway, so I tried hard to improve that here (which made for the longer length you see now). Is there anything you want to see changed or improved? The broad beats of the story are set but I'm still looking to make this the best story I can.
Reviews:
The Chosen Storyteller - Thank you so much for the review. I'm trying hard to make this have enough happiness that it's never too difficult to read or get through. Robin and Cordelia are a very different Robin and Cordelia from the games. There's a lot of grief in them which I think has made them worse as parents and people. Olivia wasn't meant to read as harshly as I think she might have! Hopefully this chapter makes her seem a little nicer. But beyond that, Sev herself has always been divisive. I love her to pieces personally but I'm really happy that I've made a version that's resonated a little more with you.