Title: Angler

A/N: For the Slumbering Princess zine! It's too bad Flayn can't interact with her family as family, or even all of her family (dragon uncles are so remote and such shut in hermits).

Summary: Cethleann's favourite spot as a child was sitting on the dock, nestled warmly between her mother and father as they fished. Now she is Flayn, her father is her brother, and those warm days are just a faded memory.

i.

Cethleann was warm. She probably shouldn't be, considering the cool breeze blowing off the ocean. It ruffled her long hair, sending goosebumps down her neck. Her woolen top felt like it had holes in it. The salt in the air stung her skin. On another day, she would have shivered and considered going home.

Today, though, was special. Today was the yearly fishing trip. Keeping her grip on her fishing rod firm, Cethleann peeked to her right. Her father sat next to her, his expression troubled as he glared at the water. His gloves were off, as though that would improve his chances. She peeked to her left. Her mother chuckled softly as she loosened her fishing line. The metal bucket beside her was filled to the brim with fish. As usual, it was effortless for her.

Sandwiched between her parents, Cethleann didn't—couldn't notice the cold. Things were always better when they were together. She didn't even mind sitting on the hard, wooden dock, her feet skimming the water whenever she swung them.

"I do not think I am doing this right," her father finally said, breaking the silence as he ran an irritated hand through his green hair. His grip on his rod slackened, his usually stiff shoulders slumping slightly.

Cethleann giggled. Her father was good at almost everything else he did, whether it was helping Aunt Rhea or meticulously keeping up with the housework. Many sang his praises whenever they went to town. It was only here by the seashore that Cethleann could catch him fumbling like she did during her lessons.

It was only here that she felt like she had a little of her father in her.

"Now, now, dear." Her mother chuckled again and Cethleann realized that her mother had been watching her father from the corner of her eye the entire time. She didn't bother to hide her mirth as she reached over Cethleann and patted his cheeks lightly. "I thought you had patience."

"I do not feel that patience will improve the matter," her father replied grumpily, scowling at his rod. Despite his words, he leaned into her mother's touch, his eyes half-closed as he surrendered. He sighed softly. "I simply do not have the talent for this."

Cethleann smiled brightly. They had this conversation every week. It gave her a warm, bubbly feeling, like she was sinking into a warm bath or when her parents surprised her with dessert. There was no place safer, no place better than right here, between the two people she loved the most.

Actually, there was only one place better, and that would be if she was also between her aunt and uncles, if her entire family had gone fishing. If there were rowdy laughter and bawdy jokes and her father trying to cover her ears, telling her she was too young to hear such things.

She tugged her father's sleeve, directing his attention to her. "I can help. Mother says I'm improving."

Her father glanced down, his expression soft. "You take after her."

"She takes after us." Her mother reached down and ruffled Cethleann's hair. "Good girl, though if he really doesn't improve after this, he's a hopeless man."

Her father flinched. "Hopeless?"

"Don't worry." Her mother leaned over and pecked his cheek. "I adore this side of you too."

It was like a scene out of a romance book. A happily-ever-after. Cethleann wondered if she'd ever find a love like theirs.

ii.

Flayn was cold. It was silly, honestly—she was fishing from a teeny-tiny pond, there was no reason to feel a temperature drop. The monastery was behind her, blocking out the wind from one direction. She even had her fur-trimmed coat on to stave off the fall chill. Now centuries old, she wasn't a child anymore, and a day like this should be nothing.

Yet she couldn't stop the shiver running down her spine, couldn't stop the goosebumps on her skin. Couldn't stop herself from glancing to her right every few seconds, at the gap between her and Seteth. It felt like it grew bigger every year. It felt like he never noticed it. His gaze was focused on the water, his expression carefully neutral. The rod in his fingers didn't so much as tremble as he sat still as a statue.

In the past few centuries, his profile had grown sterner and sterner until Flayn couldn't see the man who'd fumble every time he tried to bait his hook.

She wondered if he could still see the daughter who used to get squished between her parents.

She wondered if he ever looked to her left, searching for a face that wouldn't appear. Flayn didn't dare turn that way. Even now, she half-expected her mother to slip into place, smiling and laughing. Her arms would wrap around Flayn tightly as she teased Seteth, asking just when did he learn how to fish?

It would never happen. Her mother was no more, just as Cichol and Cethleann were no more. Now they were just Seteth and Flayn. Brother and sister. Teacher and loafer. They'd shed almost everything that connected them to their past—names, clothing, ties. Only this annual fishing trip remained, and even it was starting to fall apart.

Flayn stared at the water listlessly, her grip on her rod limp. She hadn't realized how long a day could be until she had nothing to do, how quiet it could get when there was no one to talk to.

How lonely the world was when you had to start lying about every part of yourself.

A hand gripped her shoulder and she looked up to find Seteth studying her anxiously. His rod lay on the dock. "Are you cold? We can call it a day."

"Huh?" Caught off-guard, Flayn almost dropped her rod into the pond. His touch left her flustered. "No, it's, it's not…"

"We can do this again later," Seteth added, still watching her carefully as he lowered his arm. She could count the lines on his face, most of them from worry rather than laughter.

"It's not that, Fa—" Flayn caught herself just in time. Even here, with just the two of them, she couldn't utter the word father. Sometimes, she didn't trust calling him that in her mind. "Brother."

The word felt like molasses in her throat. It was safety, Seteth had said. No one will be able to recognize us.

Even I can't recognize us, Flayn thought bitterly as she glared at the space between them. That space, more than the words, hurt. It was like they had a wall between them, keeping the distance her father so desperately wanted.

"I'm fine," she lied. They rarely got to spend time together anymore, just the two of them. Changing the topic, she asked, "Do you think Aunt Rhea will come?"

It was a silly hope. Every year, Flayn invited her aunt, and every year, her aunt politely declined. Still, they were on the school grounds. Rhea wouldn't even have to travel this time. The possibility existed.

"Rhea…" Seteth trailed off, his expression growing troubled as he stared at the water. They'd been fighting these days, something about a new professor joining the school. Sometimes she feared her already splintered family would crumble even further. "I don't think so."

"Oh." Flayn bit her lip as she kept the disappointment out of her voice. "I see."

iii.

Flayn was freezing. No, not just her, her surroundings were frozen too. Even the lake in front of her was covered in a thin layer of ice, the small hole she cut in it revealing the icy waters below.

In hindsight, she should have expected this; her uncles were never found in the nice, easily reached places of the world, after all. No, they preferred the cold, hostile environments, far beyond the touch of man. Even Indech, the friendliest of her uncles, lived in the stark wilderness. The only good thing about it was that their homes were far from society, untouched by the war burning the world down around them.

It was the perfect place for Flayn to hide while Seteth searched for Rhea, while her classmates disappeared back to their estates.

Flayn shivered. Today, she was alone. Today, there was no one on her left or right, no other fishing line but her own. Today, her classmates weren't chattering, taunting one another over their catches or teasing her for her obsession with fish.

She had forgotten how lonely solitude could be.

The earth shuddered and Flayn flinched. She'd almost forgotten that she wasn't entirely alone, though who could blame her with how little Indech spoke. She looked up to find him approaching her, the ground quaking with each step he took. When he was close enough, he sprawled on his stomach. His humongous form blocked the northern breeze.

"Cold, little one?" Indech asked, his voice gravely and low.

She smiled softly. "Not anymore." Flayn glanced at the fishing hole. It was impossible to see within its dark depths. "Though I think you scared the fish away."

"They'll return, they always do." Even her uncle's breathing was loud and Flayn knew instinctively she wouldn't catch anything else today. "You seem down, Cethleann."

Flayn felt a pleasant tingle at her old name. It had been far too long since she'd last heard it. Wiggling her feet happily, she shook her head. "Not really, uncle."

"Is that so?" he replied in a voice that told her he saw right through her lie. "Either way, I am glad you visited."

It had been a while. Sheepishly, she inspected her rod, staring at it so she wouldn't look at her uncle. "There's a war and…it's kept everyone busy. There's a lot of important things to do, after all."

"War. Even now, humans do not change," Indech grunted dismissively. She couldn't deny his words; they'd both seen kingdoms rise and fall to the whims of battle. "Is that why Cichol isn't here with you?"

"That…" Flayn gripped her fishing rod tightly. "There's a lot to do. He doesn't have time."

"Him and Seiros both, I see." Indech clicked his teeth. "No matter, I will keep you company."

Flayn turned, staring at her uncle in surprise. "Really?"

"Do I say things idly, Cethleann?" Indech snorted, put out.

"N-no, it's just…" Flayn fiddled with her fingers, not sure how to explain the warmth bubbling within her. It reminded her of long ago, of memories with her mother, of memories that had faded with the passage of time. "I thought you didn't like visitors."

"I'm not Macuil," Indech grumbled. "I enjoy meeting others."

She frowned and gestured around her. "Uncle, it's a little hard to believe that when you live in the middle of nowhere."

"That was my choice," Indech replied simply. "That doesn't mean it is your choice."

Flayn stared at him blankly. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Simply this, little one." Indech smiled, all teeth. "If you want to visit, visit. If you don't, don't. We chose to live alone, not to be alone. You can do whatever you want. It is okay to ask for more if that is what you wish."

Flayn's eyes widened and she jerked her head away. Staring down at the water, at her rippling reflection, she mumbled, "But won't that be an inconvenience?"

"Maybe." Indech shrugged and the earth quaked. "Yet, that is your right. You're allowed to be selfish, Cethleann."

"You won't…hate me?" she asked quietly, fingers shaking as she gripped her rod tightly.

"Never." Indech rumbled. "We are all happy to see you."

Tears welled in her eyes and she tried and failed to rub them away. Flayn gave a shaky laugh. "Even Macuil?"

Indech chuckled. "Even he looks forward to your visits. If anything, I don't think you bother him enough."

"He'll get angry if you say that." Flayn laughed again, the sound more stable this time. "I…I think I need to go talk to Set—Father." She squeezed her hand into a fist, drawing her courage into it. "I'm sorry, I'll come back again later."

"That's fine little one." Indech rumbled as he watched her pack up her gear. "Make sure that scamp comes with you next time."

Flayn smiled. "Yeah."

iv.

Flayn was warm. It was early spring, and there were still traces of winter lingering in the grass and trees. Small chunks of snow that weren't ready to melt and disappear. A gentle breeze blew, bringing with it memories of the cold.

Yet, Flayn couldn't feel any of that. She was sandwiched, her shoulders and thighs bumping against her companions. Peeking to her right, she found her father sitting right next to her, as though the distance of hundreds of years had melted with the ice. On her left, Rhea stared at her rod as though it were made to annoy her.

"I do not think I can do this," Rhea uttered, breaking the silence. She stared out at the water. "Are you sure there are fish?"

"Plenty." Flayn giggled, remembering a conversation hundreds of years ago. It was funny what stayed the same and what changed. "We have a bucket full."

"It takes patience," Seteth added, sparing Rhea a glance. While his expression wasn't quite teasing, it was light. "You are good at that."

"I can help," Flayn added, grinning up at her aunt. It was nice to sit beside her for once. "It's easy once you learn the basics."

"Cethleann's a good teacher," Seteth added, squeezing Flayn's shoulders.

Her name. Flayn flushed, blinking back tears. "Set—" She cut herself off, remembering her uncle's words. "Father."

Seteth flinched but didn't say anything. His hand gripped her tighter.

It was enough. It was more than enough. Years would pass before they were Cichol and Cethleann, father and daughter once more, but it would happen. As long as she wanted it to, it would happen.

For today, though, she was content with just having her family at her side, regardless of how they addressed each other.