Work Text:
As Lucina peered at the clusters of fruit in a bowl, it struck her that all things considered it was nothing short of a miracle that her foray into Regina Ferox has ended up so well.
She could have been taken prisoner and tossed into Arena Ferox. She could have been run through by Lon’qu’s blade. She could have been felled by the hoards of Risen that had begun popping up before she even reached the border. She could have been attacked by the abnormally high amount of brigands in this time period. And yet, here she is in a room outfitted for one of the Khan’s champions, picking slowly at a bunch of grapes. It’s been so long since she was allowed to just sit down and enjoy something like this.
They didn’t have much fresh produce in their timeline. If Grima and the Risen didn’t wipe it out then the scours of people who needed food took it regardless if they had grown it or not. Lucina and her handful of Shepards had become scavengers, turning over the scorched earth for anything edible. They had spent many nights hungry, already weakened from the Risen attacks and almost constant traveling. On nights like that they would huddle together in a mass of scared bodies and weaponry, drifting to sleep uneasily.
She wonders where they are now. The Awakening worked for her, and she was the last one through so they have to be somewhere, scattered across the continents. Her Shepards are a hardy bunch. A land like this would be a nice break in comparison to what they’ve been through already. They’ll be fine. They have to be. She can’t do this on her own.
The room is outfitted with a triclinium if she ever has company over. She’s sitting on one of the couches, still too restless to lay down as she moves on to one of the oranges. Mother and Father always had some sort of joke about these, but it’s faded from her memory. Despite that, the lesson on how to properly peel one remains as she pulls apart the skin to reveal the sweet fruit inside. Although he would deny it if anyone asked, Owain always had a habit of snatching a couple of her slices when they were younger. Aunt Lissa would tell him to get his own, but then take a little bit of Owain’s orange too, citing her position as his mother as why she was allowed to but he wasn’t.
Aunt Lissa had also regaled them with the story of how her parents managed to secure Regina Ferox’s support in a whirl of blades against Lon’qu. Fate can be changed. She’s here instead of him, and her father and her mother and her brother and everyone she’s ever known will not die, not here, not now, not ever.
Lucina sighs and eats another slice. She’ll have plenty of time to plan later. Right now, she’s going to rest.
—————————
There is an ease in being Marth.
When she is Lucina, she is the Exalt of a doomed world, scurrying like mice with her allies to cling to life another day. She cuts through Risen and forces herself to think about the future and what they can change, and not what she’s lost. She counts supplies over and over and does her best to make sure everyone sustains minimal injuries. She does not cry, even if she feels a grief deep and heavy in her chest. If she ever stops running she will die. That is how it has been ever since her Father fell.
Marth is different. A mysterious swordsman who drifts from place to place, free from a royal lineage or dead parents. No one looks to him for leadership, but they respect his input nonetheless. He is nothing more than a traveler in a sea of people coming and going on a bustling, thriving continent. His blade is one of many to the unfamiliar eye, and no brand marks his heritage.
She could never leave the identity of Lucina behind; she loves her friends and family more than anything, and perhaps more selfishly wishes she could freely be herself in a world not plagued by death and disease. Unfortunately, that isn’t doable now and Marth provides a nice cloak to hide in for now. She can be both at the end of the day, can’t she?
She walks carefully into Arena Ferox, just in time to hear the announcer scream, “And Khan Basilio’s surprise champion, the enigmatic swordsman… Marth!”
A round of cheers greets her. The duels in the arena served as a way to keep her wits sharp as well as warm up Basilio’s side of Regina Ferox to her position. She’s done well so far, winning all three of the matches she’s been in so far. This duel is a one-on-one with Lon’qu. It’s made quite the buzz in the palace halls, people turning up in droves to see the (presumed) grudge match of the century.
Half of Arena Ferox’s battles are about spectacle. Non-lethal fights have to be entertaining enough to make up for the lack of death, and a showdown between the stranger who took the old champion’s place and the aforementioned old champion certainly clears that bar.
They circle each other slowly, swords at the ready. Lucina knows not to underestimate him; at this point in time Lon’qu is a young man who hasn’t been burdened with the strain of a great war and a child to watch over. He isn’t one of the many Shepards that she had grown up seeing as extended family regardless of their blood ties, and he certainly isn’t going to go easy on her.
There. He jabs forwards a bit, a feint meant to convince your opponent to approach and punish the perceived attack. When they went in, he had explained to a Lucina holding her father’s sword far too soon, you slashed towards their stomach. She keeps circling. A small curl downwards at the corner of his mouth indicates his confusion, something Yarne picked up.
Finally, it’s her turn to strike. He’s closer now that he’s attacked, and knowing the trick behind some of his moves gives her openings. Openings he once would have been able to see coming, but he doesn’t have that experience yet. Their blades clash furiously but she’s driving him back; if Lon’qu tries to strike he’ll take her blow first. The crowd roars at the sight.
In a sudden burst, he twists their blades together. She knows how to avoid being disarmed, everyone with a passable level of swordfighting knows how to avoid that-
Ah. He’s used it to try and get her arm. She’s still a bit too quick for that, but a thin line of blood trickles down. Not enough to hinder her, but enough to remind her that she isn’t invincible. Lucina swings upwards, a motion that would have sliced into his head had they been fighting to the death. Lon’qu staggers back, sweeping out with a leg to prevent her from going for the punish. Yarne, again. His clawed feet were good at dealing with Risen.
When they weren’t too injured, Lucina and her Shepards would spar. It did well to keep your skills sharp against living beings. Before Yarne figured out how to cover himself, a way she would win their duels would be by taking the window of opportunity the kick left. Like father, like son, she supposes.
Lon’qu blinks at the tip of Falchion, resting near his throat. His blade is still gripped tight in his hand, but they both know there’s nothing he can do, and he’s always been a good sport.
“There is a war coming,” she mumbles, grateful for the stunned silence of their audience. “Prepare yourself.”
Lon’qu opens his mouth to say something but the crowd screams, cheering her name with wild fervor. Colored scraps of paper rain down from the sky, followed shortly by flowers. Lucina lowers her blade and helps Lon’qu up, but if he speaks she can’t hear him over the deafening roar.
She catches a stray rose thrown at her from the crowd, holding it up to her face as if smelling it. A group of ladies scream adoringly, and a rare smile slips out at the sound of such joy. She thinks of Inigo, and wonders if he would have strutted proudly or closed up at the first sight all those people watching him.
She thinks he would like Regina Ferox. It was where his mother was from, and the thought of Aunt Olivia and Uncle Fredrick here, alive, fills her with a soft relief for the rest of the day as she leaves the arena. After a brief checkup to get her arm tended to, she’s ready to rest. Khan Bastilio congratulates her on the way up to her room, reminding her with a large laugh to keep up the energy for Khan Flavia’s champion. He’s larger than life in the past, and she hopes to keep it that way. With the pleasantries exchanged, she got ready to lay down for a bit.
She certainly didn’t expect to see Lon’qu waiting at her door.
“Greetings, Marth.” He says, leaning against the wall. His sword still lies in his scabbard. She’s pretty sure he just carries it with him everywhere, but isn’t willing to look past it just yet.
“Greetings.” She answers back, curt as can be. He isn’t the vengeful type, so it can’t be that. “Why are you here?”
“You told me to prepare for an oncoming war. If you mean any harm towards Regina Ferox, Marth, I will not hold back like I did in the arena.” Steel gleams in his eyes as he stares her down, sword arm hanging loosely despite the other one being crossed.
“…You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? Plegia and Yilsse have been dancing with each other for far too long. Eventually, one country is going to push too hard and combat will start.” She watches him carefully. That frown again.
“Exalt Emmeryn has been dedicated to peace for many years. Even if she does end up declaring war, as unlikely as it would be, what quarrel does Regina Ferox have with either side?” The mention of Emmeryn feels like another reminder of her duty. She will not die this time. Lucina will not let her.
“Regina Ferox borders both kingdoms. Alliances will no doubt form, not to mention people fleeing the destruction and the drying up of trade routes. Once the war starts, it will be long and brutal. You can imagine the toll it will take on your country even if you never join the fighting.”
“You seem so confident that war will break out. Perhaps there is something you’re not telling me?”
“There is a great many things that I do not tell you, but there is nothing I wish more than to be proven wrong. Unfortunately, I have seen too much of the past to say that I will.” Hopefully she doesn’t end up under investigation for that. Stupid, stupid slip of the tongue! She should have just said that he needed to train more but the thought of making one of her friends go through the pain of losing their father all over again…
“If that is what you believe, then maybe you’re willing to indulge me in some sparring? Not now, but sometime during this week.” Lon’qu asks.
“I’m sure I have the time.” Lucina concedes. Maybe it’s just an attempt to keep an eye on her, but he’s decent company. Better than just pacing around her room and trying to come up with a way to stop every bad thing that happens to the Shepards under the sun.
—————————
It’s three days till her father arrives when a thought strikes her like an arrow to the chest, leaving Lucina to seek out a private enough corner to curl up in and wait it out. Her father is not going to be who she remembers.
Oh sure, he will still be Chrom in the same way the sky will be blue and a Fell Dragon will tear apart the earth. He will still fight to protect Ylisse and his Shepards, still fall in love with Mother, still die horribly-
No. Not that.
But he will not be the father she grew up with if she succeeds. He will not have the heaviness of a dead sister on his shoulders, or wars spanning years that slowly grind him down until Grima splits the earth. How much will he change? How cruel is she to not want him to change? She should be overjoyed at the thought of her father being happier and alive, and here she is cowering like a child. No. Khan Basilio’s champion cannot be found crying a few days to the tournament.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Marth, I didn’t see you there.” Olivia scuttles back, hands flying up to her face. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“No,” Lucina croaks, sighing afterwards. “Not at all.”
“Ah.” Olivia says. Her mask is still on, so there’s no chance of her identity being found out. Even in this time, Olivia isn’t the type of person to expose anyone. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I come here when I want to be alone, so…”
“Forgive me. I’ll leave at once if that is the case.” Inigo had that habit too. If the other children’s teasing got too intense when Ylisstol still stood and their parents were alive, he would find a great many hiding spots within the castle’s walls. Inigo. Where is he now? Safe, she hopes. Maybe off flirting with some village maiden as he tries to reunite with her Shepards.
“Oh, no, no, no! I was just worried. You seem a bit upset.” Olivia gently sits on the opposite side of the room.
“I just realized that my father…” How to even begin explaining this, especially to poor, shy Olivia? She leans her head back against the wall, making a soft thunk and thankfully not knocking off her mask, “…is not my father.”
Olivia blinks. “That… must be quite troubling.”
Lucina laughs, exhaustion evident. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I still care for him deeply, but he isn’t what I thought he was. He’s the man who raised me, but so different now. Worse yet, I can’t breathe a word of this to my sibling.”
“Do they not know?” Olivia was one of their most deployed units. She was greatly respected for her abilities on the field, something that had captured Fredrick’s heart. Despite her main talent being dancing, her work with a blade was not to be underestimated. It felt so strange to see her back as the bashful dancer her parents said she knew was.
“I haven’t seen him for quite some time.”
“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s alright.” Lucina swallowed a small lump in her throat. She made it through just fine, and she was the last person to go through the portal. They were fine as well, just scattered. They had to be. “Morgan would never go down so easily. I’m confident we’ll be reunited someday.”
“Do you plan on telling him?”
“I… don’t know. I think I’ll give it some time. Naga knows things are about to get hectic.”
“Right!” Olivia clapped her hands together. “The Ylisseans are supposed to be arriving soon. Do you think they’re here to ask for an alliance?”
“I know so.” Lucina wonders if everything will proceed the same as it does in her future. If Olivia will end up joining at all. Surely yes. It’s funny. She wants things to change, but not too much that it is unrecognizable. She does not have the power to make small tweaks to their world’s script. No, she has to accept that the future will be like nothing she knows. If she doesn’t it will destroy her.
“Good luck, Marth.” Olivia helps her up from the ground. “I’m rooting for you.”
Inigo. Foolish, flirty Inigo always had her back. Has. She’ll find him again. She’ll find them all. He had been quite enthused by the idea of the future, cracking jokes about how all of the ladies would finally be blessed by the sight of his face. She could see the cracks in the mask. They all could, but there was no time to try and help him, not while they were all crumbling apart as well. So proud of his dancing. He had confessed a couple days before the Awakening that he was glad he got a chance to show her.
“Thank you, Olivia. I am rooting for you, too.” Lucina begins walking off to her room, conversations with Lon’qu and Olivia still buzzing in her heart. She’s got a duel she needs to prepare for.