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Chapter Text

“Is Sir Finn alright?” Xavier asked as he joined Eyvel by Leif’s bedside. Eyvel had no idea when the last time Finn was close to something you could call alright was. But Xavier didn’t need to be worrying about him too.

“It’s been a long day for everyone,” she sighed, her own exhaustion starting to creep up on her. She ignored it and reached out to be handed the bowl and cloth. Xavier obliged, accepting her grateful nod with one of his own.

“I asked one of my lieutenants to find some clean clothes for him in the barracks. One of the younger soldiers should have some that will fit him.” Xavier’s gaze wandered to Leif, the remorse she’d seen when they first encountered the general returning. “I regret only being able to offer so little. It's hardly what he deserves.”

Despite her anger at the other Knights of Leonster, she couldn’t muster any against the old general. “Keeping a room for him is hardly little. And he’ll be more comfortable with simpler clothes,” she assured him as she started to wipe the blood, mud, and tear tracks off of Leif's face. “He hasn’t had much of a chance to wear anything nicer than that for a long time.”

Xavier regarded them silently for a moment, gaze lacking the judgment she would have expected from a knight. His question lacked it as well, still carrying the gentle tone he’d expressed his regrets in. “How long have you known Prince Leif?”

“We met earlier this year. He ran into an arena pit to help me fight without even knowing my name.” She gave her sleeping son a small smile as she thought of the first time she saw him, the bow in his hand letting her know he was the one who had saved her life. “I didn’t know who he was either. To be honest, it still doesn’t matter to me, not compared to what a wonderful boy he is.”

“I’m glad to hear someone speak so well of him.”

“Who else did you talk to?” Eyvel asked, a bit too sharply.

“I didn’t mean to imply I’d heard the opposite,” Xavier clarified, a hint of amusement close to appearing. It vanished quickly as he became solemn once more. “I mean no offense to Duke Dorias and Sir Finn but Prince Leif seems as if he’s had quite a trying life. I'm well aware of the tolls that takes on people and thought it best to inquire about what he's gone through from someone close to him to avoid forcing him to recount painful memories.”

Eyvel paused, cloth hovering over the scar under Leif's eye. “We’re all still learning what he’s been through.” His absolute belief as he claimed he shouldn’t exist flashed through her mind. “What he still is. But all that matters to me is that he's hurting and needs someone to actually care about him and I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to help with both."

Her declaration chased away his solemn look, fondness taking it's place. He gave Eyvel a deep bow. "My deepest gratitude isn't enough to express how grateful I am."

There was no hint of disapproval or disdain, heartfelt words truly that. Maybe not all knights were as bad as she thought. Or perhaps this was the toll his trying life had taken on him.

Xavier reached into his pocket, pulling out a small stack of folded papers slowly and delicately as if one wrong move would make them crumble into ash. "I thought I would leave these here for him but perhaps they would be more appreciated coming from you."

Eyvel returned the cloth to the bowl before reaching to accept them. Gently unfolding them, the first page greeted her with an impressively realistic and strangely familiar face. "Is this..."

"Lady Ethlyn," Xavier confirmed. "Prince Quan drew these to carry with when he left to rejoin Lord Sigurd's campaign. There are regretfully none of him nor did any of the portraits of him survive the fire."

Leif probably wouldn't have wanted any of the pictures of his father if they had existed but Eyvel thought it best not to mention that. "He'll be more than happy with this." She moved Ethlyn's drawing to the back, revealing the next one to be of a baby. "Although I'm tempted to keep this one for myself."

Xavier chuckled as Eyvel let her gaze wander from the picture of the baby to the boy he'd become. The baby's cheerful look was unlike anything she'd seen on his face, full of joy and free of cares. This wasn't where he should have ended up. This wasn't how he should have ended up. But because he had they'd come into each others' lives and she'd always be grateful for that. He'd missed out on the mother and happiness in these but she wouldn't let him miss out on having either at all.

Chapter Text

The sun was just starting to creep through the windows when Leif woke, creating a patch of sunlight on the door to greet him. He stared at it, surprised both by how long he’d slept and how well he had. As far as he could recall, the memories he’d dreaded returning to him in his sleep had stayed away. While he had no proof of it, he couldn’t help thinking the reason for this might be related to the familiar feeling of a folded mantle underneath his head.

He placed his hand on the mantle, the fabric familiar after clinging to it so many times as a child. Holding on to it more than just to keep it in place, Leif slowly pushed himself up and looked back to its owner. Just as he’d guessed from the silence when he woke, Finn was fast and peacefully asleep. Leif knew he’d been lying about resting after yesterday’s battles. He ought to be resting somewhere more comfortable but Leif knew if he woke Finn, he wouldn’t go back to sleep. Finn had gone on little sleep for months when they were on the run, Leif would do anything he could to make sure Finn got as much as he could now.

Leif carefully slid over, keeping an eye on Finn to be sure he didn’t disturb him in doing so. After waiting a moment and seeing no sign of Finn stirring, he rose to begin checking on all of the injured soldiers then paused, glancing down at the mantle in his hand. He barely wondered where he should put it before turning around and wrapping it around Finn’s shoulders. As he tucked it in to keep it from falling off, that same desire he’d felt when he realized Finn truly did care about him and after he’d cast his Ward spell on Finn returned. He hesitantly let go of the mantle, staying still as he debated whether or not to act on it before deciding to not. He wanted Finn to be awake when he did, to see how far he’d come, how much contact he could handle now. He wasn’t completely sure he could handle it yet but when he could, he wanted Finn to be the first person he hugged. Maybe that would be enough for him to hug back.

Chapter Text

“Now, what was it you wanted my help with?” Linoan asked.

“Could you cut my hair?” The request sounded strange out loud but  Linoan didn’t question him, simply guiding him to sit down again. As she headed over to the desk, she let the hand on his chest trail over to his shoulder, keeping contact between them for as long as possible. He wanted it back as soon as it was gone.

It didn’t take Linoan long to find the dagger in the top drawer. Once in hand, she walked behind Arion and pulled his hair back behind the chair.

“Tilt your head down.” Arion did as she said. “How much should I cut?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had his hair cut. Whenever that had been, it was only a trim. Cutting it any more than that had never crossed his mind before now, set on letting it grow long since he heard his father’s reason for his. Now that was why he needed it gone. “Just cut.”

Linoan was quiet. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to refuse or try to talk him out of it. Then he felt the blade begin to chop through his hair.

The room stayed silent as Linoan worked. Arion tried to focus on that; her fingers gently pulling back small sections of his hair, the short, even rhythm of each chop, the lighter feeling left behind as his shortened strands fell loose of her grasp. It was all so simple yet still enough to keep his mind quiet.

A strand fell by the side of his face. It was barely long enough to hang over his shoulder. He’d been a boy the last time his hair was this short. Was that how the Dracoknights would treat him now, disgusted by his abandonment of the image of Dainn after what else he’d done? Would they think he was admitting he’d made a mistake or his inability to take his father’s place? His father never would have done something like this, never would have acted as Arion was, hiding away and crumbling over his own actions, desperately wishing to bury himself in numbness.

The strand was pulled back, joining another held in Linoan’s other hand. He couldn’t tell what she was doing but when she let the strands go, they stayed together. Before he could reach back for it, Linoan came around and knelt in front of him, one of her ribbons missing.

“It’s never pleasant having your hair in your face,” she said as she undid her other ribbon. She tried to tuck the now loose hair behind her ear only for several strands to fall back into her face. Arion reached out to brush them back, pausing as his fingers grazed her ear. He’d seen her without her ribbons in once before and still couldn’t put a name to what the simpler look made him feel. Whatever it was, his coat draped over her shoulders and the soft, steady look she gave him only made it stronger. For the second time today he felt as if he was in a dream but this was one he wanted to stay in.

“Can you-“ He couldn’t finish his thought but Linoan still understood. She rose, wrapping her arms around his neck as he wrapped his around her waist, pulling her as close to him as he could, burying his head in her shoulder. The last remnants of her perfume still lingered, the scent still soothing even while weak. His thoughts finally quieted as his head filled instead with the sensations of her.

Linoan leaned her cheek against his head, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m here. Whatever you need me for, I’m here.”

There was a lot he needed her for. There was just as much he wanted her for. But for right now, there was nothing else he could ask for.

Chapter Text

“You’re pretty good at that.”

Halvan looked up from the flute he’d been whittling to find Lara watching him with a small, playful smile. “At playing or making these?”

“Both.” Lara flopped down on a log across from him, somehow managing to make it look graceful. She rested her chin up on her fist as she regarded him. “Performed much before?”

“A few times for celebrations in Fiana. But mostly for Patricia.”

“Is that your lover?”

“My little sister.” Halvan ran his thumb around the fingering hole he’d been working on, pretending to be inspecting it. “I started teaching myself this so I could make things for her; little animals, good luck charms. I started trying to make these after hearing her hum one of the songs our parents liked so she’d have a chance to hear them played again.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you were so soft.”

“That's usually not what you'd think of someone you broke out of prison."

"Did you miss the part where they were holding literal children on the floor above you?"

Halvan looked up from his flute. "That’s not something you easily forget. Even in Fiana we heard tales of Raydrik's cruelty but they’re nothing compared to what’s going on in Manster. Is that why you joined the Magi?"

"No but it's made me glad I did." Lara sat up straighter before continuing. "I'd only been in Manster about a week when I ran into Prince Ced and Machyua trying to break into the storehouse I'd been planning on stealing from. I gave them a hand and Prince Ced asked if I would join them. I said yes thinking they were just another group of theives. It wasn't until we got back to their base that I found out the Magi were rebels."

The mention of another thief group made Halvan wonder if she'd been in one before but stopped as he recalled her mentioning she'd been a dancer for a travelling entertainer trope the night before. She looked around Mareeta and Nanna's age, just starting to pass out of childhood but not close to being an adult yet. That was hardly old enough to be part of one of these groups, let alone three. Was this all her life had been, bouncing from one questionable group to the next?

"If you have a question, it'd help if you asked it," Lara said, giving him a small smirk. "I haven't perfected my mind reading yet."

He didn't want to risk scaring her off with questions about what he was certain was an unpleasant past. But the little he'd heard was enough for him to worry in a way he couldn't ignore. "What are you going to do after the war?"

Lara's smirk grew. "Didn't think you were someone who falls so fast either. Don't tell me you made a ring as well."

"That's not why I asked." Lara mock pouted as he ignored her tease. "I asked because it sounds like you don't have anywhere to go after the war. If you wanted, you could come to Fiana, live with Patricia and me."

"And do what?"

"Just live." Lara stared at him. "You can help out with chores around the house or run errands for other villagers but no one will force you to do anything. Orsin never lends a hand for anything but fighting unless the Commander, Tanya, or I drag him out to help."

"Why would you let me stay if I wasn't doing anything?"

"You don't have to do anything to deserve a home."

Lara fell quiet again, face blank and body stiff. It felt like a deer had caught him watching it, one move away from sending her bolting. But it was possible to get closer, even close enough to touch it. It was incredibly hard and took a lot of patience and care but it was possible. "You don't have to give an answer any time soon and even after you do, you can change your mind as many times as you need to. The war's just starting and we've no idea how long it will last. A lot's going to change between now and then. But this being an option if you want it won't."

"You sure about that?" Lara asked, straining to keep her tone light. "You might change your mind the more you get to know me."

"My best friend is Orsin. If I can put up with him, I can put up with anyone." Halvan gave a small smile. "And like you said, I'm softer than you'd think."

It took a moment before Lara chuckled, finally giving a more genuine smile. "It seems you are."

Chapter Text

“I'll cover his.”

Fergus raised an eyebrow as Homer joined him at the bar, tilting his head towards Fergus to make sure the barkeep knew who he was talking about. The barkeep grunted his acknowledgment before turning away to tend to his other patrons. “Is it my turn to be sweetened up? Didn’t think you’d make your way through the Miletians this fast.”

Homer huffed as he leaned against the bar. “Can’t I simply do something kind for my traveling companion without an ulterior motive?” 

Fergus snorted as he picked up his mug. “You sayin' you'd give up a chance to get fucked to buy my drinks?"

“If that’s what you’d like.” Fergus nearly choked on his drink, trying to convey his disbelief as he glanced at the bard. Homer seemed to get his message but waited until Fergus set his mug down before going on. “You’ve seemed distracted lately, like something serious is on your mind.”

Fergus stared down at the bar. “Have I?” He hadn’t thought he’d been obvious but he was far from an expert on how to handle feelings, let alone hide them. Not much bothered him but his recent thoughts had stuck in his mind like a burr, making him feel worse and more conflicted the more attention he gave them. "It's nothin' serious, just somethin' I didn't expect to be thinking about."

"Seems like something you don't like thinking about either." Homer swiped Fergus's mug, taking a drink before going on. "I’m not going to try to pry it out of you, everyone’s entitled to their brooding spells. But I thought the least I could do is help you drown your sorrows.”

“In that case, I’d better ask ‘em to break out the good stuff.”

"If you don't I will." Homer looked down at the mug as if it had offended him. "I'm not letting you spend my money on swill."

"You haven't had Thracian ale, have you? Now that's somethin' I'd call swill."

"Thracians have an excuse. You'd think the trade center of Jugdral would have higher standards."

Fergus looked back at the tavern, decor foreign and fancy but just as old and worn as it had been everywhere else they'd been in Miletos. "Prolly did."

His mug was pushed into his chest before his thoughts could wander any further. “You’re supposed to be drowning yourself in this, not your thoughts," Homer said, almost as if he scolding him. "They're darkened far too many of your days lately."

Miletian ale must be stronger than he'd thought for Fergus to be seeing concern in Homer's eyes. "Are you worried 'bout me?"

"I prefer my traveling companions not constantly miserable. It gives a poor first impression of both of us but especially me. What kind of bard can't even put their partner in a good mood?"

Fergus chuckled as he took his mug back. "You consider drunk a good mood?"

"I consider drunk better than brooding." Homer tilted his head, the jingle of his earrings making his smile seem even more impish. "And this is the most you've smiled in a week."

Fergus tried to return the look. "Flatterin' you'd pay so much attention to me. I must've made halfa Miletos jealous."

"Only half?"

"The other's already had their turn."

"Ah, but they're the ones who'd be the most." Homer leaned closer, the vest he pretended counted as a shirt doing an even poorer job than usual of passing as one. "They get a taste, to know what they'll be missing out on. Losing pleasure is far worse than never having the chance to experience it."

"You sure got a damn high opinion of yourself."

"Not without reason."

This didn't feel like teasing anymore, eyes too sharp and words too charged. "You sure you ain't tryin' to sweeten me up?"

"That wasn't my original intention." Homer admitted. "But if you're interested..."

"What the hell." Fergus tossed back the rest of his drink before grabbing Homer by his flimsy vest and pulling his towards the exit. He'd seen enough of the bard's partners the day after to know he wasn't all talk. Maybe this would be enough to distract him for the night.

Fergus didn't know how long he'd been lying there staring at the ceiling. He wasn't sure of anything, everything dulled into a comfortable haze.

"Seems that worked a little too well." Homer's amused observation cut through it. The shuffling of sheets made him turn his head to find Homer turning onto his side, propping himself up on his forearm. Fergus couldn't remember when his ponytail had come undone but the loose hair now fell over his shoulder like a sash. "Anything left in there?"

"Nope." Homer still had his earrings in, a few strands of hair tangling in with the tassels. Fergus reached over to pull them out but was stopped by Homer grabbing his wrist. Before Fergus could make a joke about restraint being more of Homer's thing than his, his expression began to sober. His eyes stayed soft though, keeping Fergus's locked on them.

"You said what's been on your mind isn't serious," Homer recalled. "That's probably true in general but it isn't for you."

There was something about the way Homer spoke or was looking at him or maybe it was just the remnants of the haze in his head. Or maybe he'd just been bottling this up for too long, the secret he'd kept for more than half his life falling from his lips without a second thought. "My mother was the Princess of Conote."

"Making you the Prince of Conote."

"No... I don't know." Fergus pushed himself up and leaned his head against the wall. "My grandfather hated my mother havin' a bastard of some jackass mercenary, probably disowned as soon as he found out. Dunno what my uncle thought but he prolly wasn’t king long enough to do anythin’ even if he wanted to."

"So what the problem then? If your lineage doesn't mean anything, I don't see why it would bother you. You're not running from your responsibilities or letting your people down.”

“That so?” Fergus lifted his gaze to the ceiling again. “I would’ve agreed with that before; I’m not their prince, they’re not my problem. But hearing your songs, hearing everything Prince Leif’s done… Really does feel like there's nothin' he can't do. An' he's like that 'cause he thought he had to be. Leonster's the only kingdom he's got a responsibility to, he didn't have to fight for anywhere else. But he didn't think of it like that. He saw all of Northern Thracia was his responsibility 'cause he was the only one left, the last royal of all the kingdoms. He ain't Manster or Alster or Conote's prince but he took on their responsibilities, fought for their people 'cause if he didn't, no one would." Fergus gave a humorless laugh. "Kid started doing this when he was ten. At that age, I fled Conote and never looked back."

"But you are now." Shame kept Fergus from admitting Homer was right. "Go, I won't mind."

"Mind what?"

A pillow hit his side, followed by a withering look as Fergus lowered his gaze again. "Do you really think I listened to all that and still don't understand what's bothering you?"

Even with the confirmation of Homer's approval, Fergus still hesitated. "I'm supposed to be protecting you."

"I may prefer being a lover to a fighter but I can still be one when needed. And I have the support and favor of the people, I know they'll look out for any trouble coming my way." Homer sat up, putting them on eye level again. "Go. Save some orphans or crack some Empire nobles' heads open or whatever you think you owe it to the people of Conote to do for them. You'll just keep regretting it if you don't."

Fergus stared at him then gave a lighter chuckle. "Sure you only planned on buyin' my drinks tonight?"

"Ask me again when you get back." Despite his tone's nonchalance, the hand around his wrist tightened in a quick squeeze.

Fergus leaned over and rested his chin on Homer's shoulder. "I'll hold you to that."

Chapter Text

"Lady Tine?"

The girl jumped, taking a moment to realize Nanna had been the one who called to her. Nanna offered her a gentle smile but Tine still shrunk in on herself. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

"N-no." Tine didn't sound sure of her answer but Nanna knew enough about being suddenly thrust into a large group of strangers to take her words over her tone. She took a seat beside Tine, pretending not to notice how her gaze immediately darted to the ground.

"I realized I haven't actually introduced myself. I'm Nanna, daughter of Lachesis of House Nordion. She and my father fought alongside your parents in Lord Sigurd's army."

Tine's head had shot up at the mention of her parents. "They did?"

Nanna nodded. "My father joined Lord Sigurd's army shortly after yours and Lady Tailtiu joined while they were fighting in Agustria, my mother's homeland. It was a difficult time for my mother, fighting against her country and brother, and the support she received from the members of Lord Sigurd's army meant a great deal to her."

Nanna didn't know how well their parents had known each other during their time in Sigurd's army but as Nanna had hoped, hearing someone had a positive connection to the better members of her family eased some of the tension in Tine. "It feels like that here, at least with the people I've spoken to so far. Everyone knows I'm Bloom's niece but they're still so kind to me. Even Prince Leif."

"Lord Leif is the last person who'd be cruel to you." To her relief, Tine didn't seem to doubt that. "I can't think of anyone in our army who would be. Everyone here know how important it is to look out for each other both on and off the battlefield."

Tine ran her fingers over something in her pocket, thoughts softening her expression into one close to peaceful. "It's more than just kind words here."

"It is." Nanna placed the lacy white flower Lara had suggested and helped her find in Tine's lap. "Did you know different types of flowers have different meanings?"

"No," Tine said as she picked up the flower to examine it. "I didn't think these were considered flowers. Uncle and Ishtar always called them weeds."

"They might think it's valueless but I think it's quite pretty." Tine nodded in agreement. "The meanings of flowers may have all been made up by the man who told them to Lara but the idea behind it is a nice, an easy, pretty way to give someone a symbol of your feelings."

Tine hesitated, regarding the flower almost nervously. "What feelings does this one mean?"

"It means safety, peace, and refuge. When they're white like this one, they stand for new beginnings and healing as well," Nanna explained. "It's what I hope we can help you find and be for you."

Tine took a moment to look up from the flower, eyes bright and smile barely there. Nanna wondered if this was how Eyvel had felt taking care of her when she and her father first arrived in Tahra. If so, she could see why she did this so much.

Chapter Text

As soon as Leif saw Arion and Ced in his doorway, he knew they were hiding something. It took only a moment to notice Ced holding his hands behind his back, elbows pointed out too awkwardly to just have them casually clasped. "I said you didn't need to."

"And we still wanted to," Ced said, quickly adding before Leif could refuse again, "Just let us show you what we made. We both spent a lot of time on it and I know you'll find it interesting."

Leif knew they would force him to accept their gift if he let them show it to him. But refusing would be rude, something August was often reminding him he needed to work harder on not being. Ced's confidence in his interest had made his curiosity start to grow as well though he tried not to let it show. That was exactly why Ced had mentioned it and it was frustrating how well it worked despite knowing this.

Ced seemed to take his silence as agreement, that or Leif wasn't the only one who needed to work on his manners, and entered Leif's room, Arion following a moment after. He stopped on the opposite side of the fireplace and revealed an oddly shaped bundle wrapped in a rag. "Apologies for the rough wrapping but the smith finished these just before we arrived." With his free hand, Ced pulled back the rag to reveal two long, golden bracelets.

"These were Prince Ced's idea. After drawing up a design with the blacksmith who helped bring our men across the River Thracia after the bridges broke, I had Rumei bring the amount of gold we'd need from our stores in Castle Thracia," Arion explained.

"Bracelets like these are common for nobles to have back home. Well, at least shaped similarly to this. We came up with some... modifications for you." Ced picked one up and shifted it slightly. A blade popped out of the top, small but sharp. "You can take them out if you want but we thought this would be a good alternative to how you've been carrying yours."

Leif stared at the bracelet. "I'm not supposed to carry knives like that anymore."

"You're not supposed to carry knives inside your sleeves anymore. No one said anything about having knives hidden over your sleeves."

"No one but us and the blacksmith knows about this and that's all who have to," Arion assured him, expression softening. "Duke Dorias's concern is understandable but not one I'd believe applies to you, a stance I will vouch for to anyone."

"And as part of a present from us, it'll be harder to accuse you of having ill intent in carrying them," Ced added.

Leif looked at the bracelet still lying in Ced's palm. He hadn't said anything to either of them about how uncomfortable being told he shouldn't carry his knives anymore made him. He hadn't told anyone and had even tried to follow Dorias’s advice while they were in Castle Leonster. He'd hated it and how tense it made him, almost giving in at least once every day, but had resigned himself to needing to get over this. But with these, he wouldn't have to. “One condition.”

“That’s not how presents-”

“Stop using a title with me.”

Ced paused, too taken aback to finish his sentence. “What?”

“Don’t call me Prince Leif anymore, or King after tomorrow. I don’t use your titles.”

“You don’t use anyone’s title.”

“It's respectful,” Arion amended. “We may be of similar political status currently but you're still above us as the leader of the Thracian Liberation Army. And you've gone far too long without the respect you deserve."

“I don't want to be treated with respect, I want to be treated as your friend.”

It had been a while since he’d seen Arion smile so warmly. “Very well... Leif.”

It hadn't become any less strange to hear his name like this. But it did feel a little more right.

Chapter Text

As soon as Glade and Robert left their camp, Olwen moved to sit beside Fred. "Hey."

"Hey," he said. "You doing alright?"

"I'd rather be the one asking that," she said. "I haven't heard you speak as passionately about anything as you did earlier with Robert. Is this because of how Bloom's treated Friege?"

Fred grimaced, clearly as keen on answering her as she was him. But after a moment, he sighed, looping his arm around hers. "How about this? You go first since then I asked first then I'll go."

"We don't have to talk about either."

"But we should."

He was right, she knew it even before she suggested otherwise. She still would have been willing to take an out for now, let their feelings die down before trying to talk about them. But if he was willing, she'd do it as well. Olwen leaned into his side and stared into the fire as she tried to put her thoughts together. "He was happy. I was with Knights of Leonster and destroyed the bridge to Conote and he was still happy to see me."

"He thought he never would again."

"I wish that was true. Every day since Prince Leif confirmed what Kempf said, I've only wanted that more."

"But not him dead."

Olwen pressed herself closer against him. "No," she admitted, even more ashamed of the thought having said it aloud. "He deserves it, he's cost countless children their lives and I don't want to think about what he might have done to any of their families if they tried to protect them. The way Prince Leif was treated, as a child... no one who thinks doing something like that is fine deserves forgiveness."

"He may not have known about it," Fred pointed out. "I didn't, I didn't even know something like this was possible."

Olwen stayed silent, watching the nearest branch in the fire slowly be eaten away by it. She wasn't ready to share this thought yet, too new and too many emotions attached to it. But she ought to finish her first. "I don't want to see my brother die. As angry and disgusted as I am with him, as much as I can never forgive him for, I still can't want that. I can't even say I wish I did."

"Of course you can't." Olwen turned her gaze up to Fred. "You've too kind a heart for that."

The words should feel like flattery but not coming from him. She slid her arm out of his to wrap around him, Fred wasting no time following suit. "And what about you? Is that why you've taken so much to Father Sleuf's words?"

Fred huffed. "I don't think I'd ever say that about myself." He turned his attention to the fire now, its glow against his face coloring him like the sun. "I knew Bloom couldn't care for us for him to order us to do something so vile as hunt children. But I thought it was only us, that we were the ones taking his cruelty so the people back home wouldn't, inflicting cruelty on another country's people to spare ours from the same. But we were just allowing him to make their lives worse in another way. We neglected the people of Friege as much as him by being foolish enough to think he could care for anyone beneath him."

"That's not foolish, that's what rulers are supposed to do. Bloom's the one to blame for being even worse than you expected.

"But we should have. If he'd treat the people he's king of the way he's treated the Northern Thracians, if he'd treat his family the way he treated Lady Tine and her mother, why would we have thought the people of his dukedom would be any different?"

"Because you didn't want to believe someone so important to you was completely cruel."

Fred looked back at her, gaze softening in sympathy. "No, you don't," he agreed. "It's not easy to accept what that means."

"At first. But accepting it brings you closer to stopping it, to being able to do the good for your country you became a knight to do. Once you know what's in the way of that, you can start building the strength to face it." Olwen gave him a small smile. "And give others the strength to find it."

A smile slowly formed before Fred pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her. "You've given me far more than strength."

Olwen closed her eyes as she relaxed into his embrace, the feeling of their bodies pressed so close together all she wanted to focus on. "As have you."

One conversation was far from enough to put either of their minds at ease. Olwen had no doubt her thoughts would continue to swirl and churn each time they turned to Reinhardt just as the resentment and regret would wash over Fred whenever his turned to Bloom. But right now beside the fire, embraced by each other, Olwen couldn't imagine ever feeling more at peace.

Chapter Text

It was strange to think her father had once had his own house. It was stranger still to think that she and her mother had lived with him in it for a year, her childhood fantasy having been a reality before she could remember it.

It seemed to be the same for her father as well, though the strangeness for him may have more to do with it having been someone else's home for over a decade. He'd probably never expected to live there again but General Xavier had remembered which it was and cleared it out while they were away. He'd agreed to see it but stopped first to invite Nanna to accompany him.

The house was just far enough from the castle to justify riding out to it. It felt a little fitting, having always associated riding fondly with her father. His lessons had been one of the few times just the two of them had done something together and something he'd only done with her. It was easy to relax as they slowly trotted beside each other in comfortable silence. At least it was until she noticed her father’s discomfort hadn’t lessened. “Father?”

Finn looked over at her, not obviously worried or upset but anything beyond that unclear. "Lord Leif shared your idea for Castle Alster at our meeting today.”

“It was Lord Leif’s idea. I just suggested using Castle Alster for it so I could be in charge of it.” Nanna tried to think of a reason this would trouble her father. “Did someone at the meeting take issue with using the castle?”

“No, everyone agreed it was an admirable intention and respectable use of the castle,” Finn assured her, though he paused before asking, “What was it that made you want to be in charge of this?”

“Hearing about it,” Nanna said. “Those children's lives have already been so cruel and without something like this, they’ll just be dismissed as lost causes and killed. I can’t accept that’s all that can be done for them. I want to find a way to help them heal, to give them a chance to have good, happy lives. They deserve at least that.”

Finn paused again, giving Nanna the chance to notice something sad in his expression before he responded. “You deserve that as well.”

“Doing this won’t prevent that.”

“But will staying in Leonster?”

“Leonster is my home. I’ve wanted to reclaim it just as much as you and Lord Leif have. Of course I’ll be happy here.”

“Nordion is your home as well. With… the current state of succession, you’re at least set to inherit it once Agustria has been liberated.”

At least. She didn’t want to think about how much she’d be the heir to if Diarmuid was dead as well. “Leonster was the leader of the Manster District’s alliance but Bloom chose to rule from Alster after turning it into Northern Thracia. Diarmuid could do the same with Agustria and Nordion to deal with the issue of none of the other kingdoms having heirs and to be able to live in Mother’s home.” And to keep her out of it. He’d probably do everything he could to keep her from having any power in Agustria once he learned about what happened to their mother. "Besides, children are supposed to inherit from their father first."

"There's very little you'd inherit from me." His gaze drifted past her. Nanna turned to follow it in hopes she could take advantage of whatever had distracted him. What she found was a low wall of grey stones around a house made of the same.

Nanna followed Finn's lead in slowing her horse to a stop, dismounting a few paces from the gate. A short path led from it to the door with a rose bush to the side of it just under the window. They both avoided looking at it as they approached and entered the house.

Though the personal items of whoever lived here last had been removed, the house wasn’t completely barren. A table and chairs were in the far corner of the room, and a smaller table and bench with cushions were in the corner by the fireplace. They were all simple and indistinct as if they could belong to anyone. Yet for some reason, they felt like perfect fits for here.

Finn didn’t say anything as he took everything in. Nanna had no idea what he thought about being here again though she wasn't sure what she'd say if he asked her what she thought of it. Despite how much she wanted a home that was truly hers, there was still a strangeness in thinking that was what this was. There was nothing wrong or uncomfortable about the house yet everything about this felt surreal, as if it would all disappear if she stepped any further forward.

She stepped forward and nothing changed. The house didn't disappear nor did the feeling this was all a dream. She looked around the room again, trying to take in every detail she could when she noticed the stairs in the back corner opposite the table and chairs. “What’s upstairs?”

Her question pulled Finn out of his thoughts, gaze pausing on her for a moment before turning to the staircase. “That was our room.”

“Our room?”

“It was easiest to have you nearby while you were so young, especially with the weather for the first few months.” He glanced over at the fireplace, letting it linger for a moment before adding, “For the first few nights we stayed down here, to not put too much strain on your mother.”

"You didn't have to stay too."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Your mother said the same thing."

They hadn’t spoken about Lachesis since Manster. She’d been a rare topic before but after losing her for good, their avoidance was more intentional. Being here in the home they’d all shared, it felt wrong to keep skirting around her. “Did Mother like it here?”

A memory almost allowed a small smile to break through. “It wasn’t the worst place she’s stayed in. Though it took some time for her to become fond of it.” Just as Nanna was about to try her luck asking what he meant by that, his almost smile faded. "Though I could tell she still missed Nordion."

The mention of the Nordion replaced any light feelings with dread, something that didn't go unnoticed by Finn. He turned to face her, concern making her feel as if he knew what she was thinking. “Do you not wish to inherit Nordion because of what happened to her? If you think you don’t deserve it or won’t be welcome because of this, I promise you neither will be true. The people will grieve her loss but they will not blame you.”

"That's not why I don't want it." She almost wished he had known what was bothering her, unable to look at him as she explained herself. "I never would have thought about ruling Nordion if Ares hadn't died. Even when I did, all I could think about was how much I didn't want to. I don't want to leave everyone here behind to rule over a country and people I know nothing about. I want to stay and help the country I was born in and have loved all my life. Nordion was Mother's home. Leonster is mine. I don't want to be forced to leave it again."

With every word she said, her dread built. Would he be disappointed in her for thinking this, for not caring about the duty she had been born into? He cared more deeply for his duty than anything, even his own life. Being a princess, being a queen, was a far greater responsibility than being a knight and she'd turn it down just to stay here.

"If this is where you'll be happy." She could hear none of her fears in his words nor notice a trace of them as she looked up at him. He wasn't disappointed or even still concerned. He was being genuine, their conversation on the way here making her certain of this.

"It is. I'd never feel at home if I was by myself."

Finn's expression softened, as gentle as he'd been when he promised her he'd try not to die. "We can worry about what to do about Nordion later. While we're here, it's not much, but if you wish to stay here you'll always be welcome."

Objectively, it wasn't much. But to Nanna, it was all she could have asked for.

Chapter Text

Tine was the last person Linoan warped over.

They hadn't discussed what the groups would be for each room but seeing only Linoan and Arion left at the middle room when she appeared, she didn't need to ask. Linoan didn't waste their time addressing it either, immediately turning towards the room and heading for the stairs. Arion hurried to take the lead, doorhandle in hand while Tine was still halfway up the stairs.

"Don't go in," Linoan warned, quickly climbing the last few steps to join him by the door. "If all the rooms are the same, there could be a dark mage waiting on the other side.

"Or there could be knights waiting there," Arion countered.

"Either way, a light spell from out here is the safest first move."

Arion relaxed a little before giving a nod. He waited for Linoan to give her own before giving the door a hard shove then dashing back as Linoan threw out her hand. A light spell flew through the crack just as it opened wide enough for the spell to fit. The spell made contact with a dark mage though barely earned a flinch. It was still enough of a pause for the dark mage to only have the time to begin expending their arm when Arion's sword plunged through their middle. Linoan dashed in and to the left as Arion stepped back and yanked his sword out. The dark mage fell like a curtain as Tine entered the room, the rush of magic rising through her incredibly ill fitting as an unnaturally colored yet familiar face was revealed.

Arion suddenly lunged to the right, the far too close clang of metal making Tine jump back. She looked towards it to see Arion's sword blocking a Hammer that had been on course to smash against her forehead. She threw out her hand at the knight holding it, forgetting the boost she'd just felt as she cast her spell. Burnt flesh and organs spattered out of the side of the knight's chest plate, cracking of bone blending with the crack of her spell. The smell overwhelming the room threatened to take her from it and back to the night this same fate had befallen Count Conomor.

Despite having collapsed that night as this knight now did, Count Conomor had no trouble standing now nor with charging towards Linoan. Arion lunged to intercept him as Linoan cast a light spell at Conomor. It struck in the same place Ishtore's spell had though this time his torso flopped forward as he was thrust back against the altar. Arion turned from his lunge, facing Conomor as he attempted to straighten. He remained mostly hunched, shoulders uneven and chest concave. But his eyes remained fixed on Arion as he started to raise his Killing Edge again. Arion lunged forward, Conomor's attempt at a thrust in response surprisingly steady but lacking the strength or speed to stop Arion, sword knocked aside as Arion's continued forward into his chest. Conomor lurched forward one last time before his sword clattered to the floor and his body went limp once more.

Tine flinched as Arion pulled his sword out of the Count, the gesture catching Linoan's attention. She watched Tine for a moment before asking in a gentle voice, "Did you know him?"

Tine fought not to flinch again. "He- he was Princess Miranda's advocate. Count Conomor pledged himself and his knights to Uncle in exchange for access to Princess Miranda."

"And he and his men turned on Bloom when they learned Princess Miranda joined her people's rebellion," Linoan guessed.

Tine nodded, the twisting in her stomach making her hesitant to try speaking. The Loptyrian who'd warned them of Prince Leif seizing Leonster had asked to take some of the bodies with him before leaving to report all of this to Archbishop Veld. How many of these rooms held corpses of rebels her family had slain, forced into this twisted facsimile of life? Was it just rebels or were some of House Friege's fallen soldiers down here as well? She knew Eriu, Banba, and Fotla had all been killed in the rebellion but she didn't recall seeing their bodies after the Loptyrian left. Would her uncle really agree to let something so horrible happen to soldiers who had served him so loyalty, who had been devoted to him and House Friege?

What he really wanted was for me to see her hanging body and to hint at what his demon of a wife had done to her to lead to this.

The twisting in her stomach stopped as a bitter heat began to bubble. Of course he would. He didn't let the dead stay dead, not when he could still use them against someone. How many times had he told her she should be grateful for him raising and being kind to her after her mother died? He always said he did it out of the goodness of his heart but his heart was emptier than the Deadlords.

Tine knelt down next to Count Conomor and closed his eyelids. He didn't look any more peaceful but she'd never seen him look peaceful in life either. He'd always seemed so somber as if the world was as grey as his face was now. Even at the happiest she'd seen him, when he was allowed to escort Princess Miranda through the garden or bring her a gift for her birthday, there had still been an underlying sadness to him. The same sadness she remembered seeing in her mother on her best days.

It was always the rebels that she'd heard blamed for the lack of peace in Northern Thracia. But it was her uncle who brought and enabled cruelty and suffering for all of his reign. From her mother to Count Conomor and Princess Miranda, he let no peace or freedom exist, even in death. The only thing that would bring both back to Northern Thracia was his. And maybe after that, she could have them too.