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The chair's too big for him.
That's Hector's first thought as he stares up at it, that big, ridiculously gaudy, golden thing. Before, the empty throne had seemed so small. But with the idea of sitting in the damn thing looming over him, it's suddenly enormous. Either way, it's weird seeing it empty. Has he ever even been in this room alone?
He just wants to be alone now. He hasn't been alone for what feels like years.
The throne room is cavernous. It's always seemed big, but now it's huge, stretching ahead of him for miles. It's empty enough that Hector's footsteps echo as he approaches the throne. His throne? Uther's throne. It still feels like Uther's throne.
Gods, Hector thinks as he comes to a stop at its base, it's seriously huge. Towering and big and just ridiculously ostentatious. Chairs don't need to be that big, or that fancy. They're chairs. They're just for sitting in.
It's a symbol, Oswin would say, and Uther would agree but roll his eyes behind Oswin's back, and Hector would try not to laugh but his face would give it away, and Oswin would get that wounded look in his eye, and Uther would burst out laughing, that rumble that filled the castle halls...
Either way, the throne's Hector's now.
His armor creaks as he sits in it. It's...it doesn't feel as big inside, but the seat's still wide enough to fit two of him, armor and all. And the armrests are uncomfortably high. True, House Ostia runs big and tall, but Hector can't imagine he'll ever grow into it.
It fit Uther just fine.
Anger swells in Hector's stomach at the thought. How dare Uther? How dare he die and not tell Hector anything? No secret note? No hidden message? Nothing, no guidance, not even a farewell. Hector understands why he did it. He'd probably have done the same. But now House Ostia's in the hands of a not-quite-eighteen-year-old, who's never led anything but a battle squadron in his life, and slept through most of his history and diplomacy lessons. Lycia's probably doomed.
No, no, it isn't. Hector will work. He can do this. He's not backing down. And Eliwood will help, too. So will Lyn, and Oswin, and everyone. Hector's not alone. But gods, he feels alone. What's he even doing this for?
His brother's in the royal mausoleum somewhere. They buried him, without telling Hector, long before he made it back to Ostia. They'll hold a real funeral, Oswin says, now that he's home. Wonderful, Hector had fought the urge to say. A funeral and a coronation. Both of which he'll have to plan. By the gods, Hector has no idea where to even start. Hector said he'd do it, and he will. But…
...but Hector's scared. He didn't tell anyone, not even Eliwood, but he's scared. He never thought he'd be the one leading Ostia. This wasn't supposed to be his job. He was going to be Uther's faithful watchdog, and he was going to make sure all of Ostia's enemies met the business end of his axe. That he can do. That's what he's good at. But he has to do more, be more now, because he's all that's left, and he can't let his brother's land crumble and fall.
Because Uther's dead. And Hector's never going to see him again. There hadn't been time to cry, or grieve, or dwell. Just to push it down and keep going forward. He had to be strong for all of them. They'd worry.
But nobody's here now. Hector's all alone. Now...now it's all right, right? If nobody's there to watch…
Hector presses his forehead into one of the chair's massive arms. It feels like Uther, like he's right there, his hand resting on his shoulder, and when did he last hug his brother, or thank him? He can't even remember…
Don't look so glum. We've still got each other, right? Just you and me. We'll rebuild, and it'll be okay. So don't cry. I'm here.
I'll always be right here.
The tears come unbidden, and Hector grits his teeth through them, feeling childish and weak, but he gives in, because Uther is dead, and it had been so sudden but not sudden at all, really, he'd just been too stupid to notice, and there are so many things he wishes he'd said but there's no point now, because he's gone, and the tears burn down his face like trails of fire, and it hurts more than dragonflame and it isn't fucking fair...
Eventually, sleep claims him. He hasn't slept properly for weeks.
***
The chair's too big for her.
Lilina stares up at the aged throne, hands clenching and unclenching in her skirt. It's so big, and a little battered from when Roy had dragged Leygance off it, but still fancy and elaborate. Older than her, older than Father - built at least a hundred years ago. Maybe more. Lilina's never asked. Father always joked about how ugly it was. Joked about smashing the thing with his axe so Oswin would let him buy a new one.
But it doesn't matter anymore. Oswin's dead now.
Just like Father.
Lilina knows she hugged Father goodbye when he left. She always does - did. But she can't remember it, not clearly. Did he pick her up off the ground, as effortlessly as he hefted his axe over his shoulders? Did he ruffle her hair and laugh as she tried to right it? Did he have any words of comfort, of encouragement? Lilina can't remember. She's tried so hard, over and over, but that memory is gone, fog and dust and ash, just like him.
Roy told her Father's last words, and sure, Lilina didn't hear them herself, but she can hear them anyway, ringing in her ears, louder and louder the more silence there is around her. Just one more time. One more time, one more time with him, just to learn what she needs, to know what he thought, to know if she's enough. That's all she wants, and she can't have it, and she's too old to think of things in terms of fair and unfair, but it isn't fair.
There's an envelope with her name on it on the desk in Lilina's room. In that envelope, there's a letter, thick and folded over. Every time he went away to a battlefield, Father rewrote it, leaving the new copy tucked in his bureau, in a spot only the two of them knew. Lilina had gone and fetched it, after Ostia was freed, after Roy told her, and she hadn't cried, not a single tear, just slid the drawer shut and tucked the letter into her pocket. It was carried there, safe and warm if a little crumpled, all through the war, through Lycia and Etruria and Bern, and sometimes she took it out and looked at it...but she still hasn't read it.
If she reads it, he'll really be gone. And then Lilina will cry.
And there hadn't been time to cry. Father never cried, not once, never, in all Lilina's life. If he did, she never saw it. He had to be strong, for her, for his people. Lilina has to be strong, too.
But now, though, she's all alone, and her guards are posted outside the doors, and it's okay now, isn't it? Just for a little while?
Lilina curls up in the big chair, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning on the massive armrest, her face lying on slightly battered and timeworn velvet.
It smells like armor polish, and cedarwood cologne, the kind that Uncle Eliwood gave Father a new bottle of every birthday. Even though Father hasn't sat in this chair in so long...he still lingers there, somehow, spending so much time on those cushions that they soaked him up, like a ghost clinging to the faded fabric.
This will be yours someday, little firecracker. You're strong. Stronger than me, stronger than anyone. You can do it, can't you?
I believe in you.
The tears come suddenly, her whole body shaking with the force of them as she grips the hem of her cloak in one hand and presses the other over her mouth to quiet her sobs. He's gone and he wasn't at home waiting for her and he isn't coming back, and his retainers died here in Ostia trying to protect her or out there in Araphen with him, and he died, and he just wanted to see her one more time, Roy said, and she wasn't there, and she was doing her duty but she should have gone and she should have seen him one last time because now she can't and he's gone -
She must fall asleep there, lulled by her father's scent and the chair's aged cushions and worn thin by her own grief.
***
It's one of those dreams again.
Hector hasn't had one in awhile. Not since the one about the little girl, riding on his shoulders and then running off to play with the redheaded boy. But this dream has that similar sharp, vivid feel. It's definitely a dream, it's not real, a part of Hector knows he's probably still asleep in the Ostia throne - but he's got control of himself, watching a scene from the outside with full awareness of everything happening inside.
The dreams had only gotten more clear as the battles alongside Eliwood had raged on - little blue-haired girls, running through his mind, strange disjointed fragments. Picking flowers, holding his hand, dancing, laughing, laughing, laughing. Despite the joy of those visions, there had always been a cloud hanging over them, a strange sense of loss Hector had never been able to pin down.
He hadn't bothered telling Eliwood any more about them. After all, Hector's never put much stock in magic dreams. Or magic in general.
But he should probably try to figure this one out. It feels different, somehow. More important, more urgent. It's like someone's calling for him, as silly as that sounds.
Let's see. Stone walls, stone floor. Big fancy chair - wait.
Hector squints, and yeah, he's still in the Ostia throne room. That's weird. Some of the tapestries usually adorning the walls are gone, and the decorations are a little different, and he's pretty sure some of the bricks are chipped and cracked in ways they weren't before. The throne itself looks like someone knocked it over and then hastily set it upright again - like that time he and Uther mutually swore to never tell Oswin about. But it's definitely his brother's - his - throne.
"Okay?" Hector asks of the empty air. "Not sure why you're showing me this. It's kind of dull, since I was already in here to start with. But I'd like to get back to sleep, thanks very much - "
"Who's there?"
Hector turns around. A little girl with blue hair is staring at him.
***
"Who's there?" Lilina tries to keep from trembling. She doesn't have a tome, and this young man - he's taller than her, and broad and muscular, and wearing armor, and how did he get in? That's what she gets for dozing off. "How did you get past the guards? Guards!"
Nobody comes. Why isn't anyone coming? Fresh fear rises in Lilina's throat. Did something happen to Gwendolyn and Bors? Did this man hurt them?
"This isn't real," says the man. He doesn't appear to have a weapon, but Lilina doesn't lower her guard. "You know that, right?"
"What? What do you mean, not real? This is my fath - my throne room!" Lilina tries to stand tall and proud. She's a marchioness. Almost. "I warn you, if you try anything - "
The man lifts both hands to shoulder height. His armor creaks. "Woah, woah. Who said anything about trying anything? Just - just calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. Honest."
Lilina eyes him warily. "Then what are you doing in my throne room?"
"Your throne room? This is my throne room!"
"Are you insane? This is Castle Ostia! And I happen to be the marchioness!" Well, almost, but for all intents and purposes, she is. Lilina fixes the man with the most frightening glare she can muster, one she learned from watching Oswin. The one that made even Father quake in his boots. "So you can just - "
"Wait. Wait." The man rubs a hand over his forehead. "Oh, shit."
"Excuse me?"
"Um…" The man grimaces. "I think this is...a bit of a misunderstanding. Who's your father, kiddo?"
"How dare you?" Lilina's voice cracks on the last word, and tears prick at the corner of her eyes. There goes her composure.
The man recoils at the sight of her tears. "Oh, shit, shit shit shit. Shit."
"Would you stop saying that?" Embarrassment fuels Lilina's anger as she scrubs angrily at her eyes. "What's going on? Who are you? How dare you mock my father?"
"I just, I…Okay." The man takes a deep breath, massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Ah, fuck - I mean, ah, man. What am I even supposed to do here?"
"You tell me!" Lilina curls her hands into fists, taking deep breaths in an effort to regain control. She's in her father's throne room, which is her throne room, and there's a weird guy with a foul mouth here, and he's looking at her like she's some kind of demon, and the guards aren't coming, and she has no idea what's going on.
"Okay, first off." The man runs a hand through his gelled hair, making it stick up awkwardly, and the gesture feels familiar to Lilina in a way her frantic mind can't define. "This isn't real, like I said. You're dreaming. It's a thing that happens to the royal house of Ostia. Apparently." The man shrugs. "Or at least, to me, and I think my brother, and it's looking like you, too. Because you can see me, and you're talking to me."
"...What?" Lilina stares. "You're of Ostia? But that's impossible...Father said…"
"Funny you should say that, actually." The man scratches the back of his head. "Because, um, I'm pretty sure...well, I'm Lord Hector, almost the Marquess of Ostia. Pleased to meet you."
***
The girl looks like someone just slapped her across the face. "What?"
"Yeah." That expression confirms all Hector's suspicions, which is very much not a good thing. "I'm really - "
"Prove it," the girl says, her lips barely moving. All the color's drained from her face. "Prove you're him - "
"Uh." Hector casts around. What would he have told his daughter? "Well, I've got this scar on my palm. It's where Eliwood and I made a blood pact when we were kids, back in school. He's the only one who agreed to do one with me. None of the other kids took me up on it. Of course, I was seven, and Uther probably shouldn't've let me have a knife, and I did a crap job of it and now I have the scar. Here." He takes off his glove and holds his hand up to show her. "See?"
The girl's expression is starting to shift, from anger to something scarier. Hector swallows. "And, uh, I use an axe because my brother uses - used lances and I wanted to beat him at something for once. I actually do like sweets, but I don't eat them much because I want to look cool, and meat's more manly. Which Lyn says is dumb, and she's right, but I can't tell her that. Red's my favorite color. My retainers are named Oswin, Matthew, and Serra. One time, my brother..." He stops.
Tears are pouring down the girl's face, big and sloppy. She presses one hand to her mouth, making a choking noise.
"Does that...is that enough?"
The girl nods, and then runs at him, full-tilt, nearly knocking him over as she flings her arms around his neck and breaks down sobbing.
Yeah, Hector thinks sadly, that cinches it.
***
It's completely unbecoming behavior of a lady of Ostia. It's improper and childish and embarrassing.
Lilina doesn't care.
He smells like Father, she realizes, and like the throne. Armor polish, mostly. No cedarwood cologne. Not yet, because Uncle Eliwood only started buying that for Father after she was born, didn't he? And this Father is barely older than her...
A hand awkwardly pats her on the back. "Uh...there, there, kiddo. Let it all out."
Yes, it's definitely Father. A bizarrely young Father. Lilina's tired of questioning things. She's tired of being an adult and a lady and a marchioness and carrying the world on her shoulders with a smile. Father's here, and it's a dream, or something, and he doesn't know her, but he's here, somehow, and she'll take it. She'll take anything.
"You're...kind of choking me, kid."
Lilina squeezes tighter.
"Gack. Okay, definitely choking me. Please let go."
"O-oh." Lilina loosens her grip and leans back. "Um...sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Father - kind-of Father - rubs his neck, wheezing. "I'd probably do the same. So, uh...how're things? Oh shit don't cry - "
Lilina wipes her face on her glove. "I'm not crying."
"You kind of are, though - oh, this is probably one of those times where I should be tactful." Father clamps his mouth shut, and Lilina fights a bizarre urge to laugh and bawl at the same time.
It's so completely him.
***
"I...there's so much I want to ask you…" The girl's face is shining with tears. Hector takes a better look at her. Long blue hair, pretty tall, oddly lanky for a kid of his. She's wearing red-and-white robes and a billowy cape, kind of like the old Archsage. And she's trembling.
"I don't know how much I can answer," Hector says, honestly. "I'm not known for my brains."
The girl giggles, wiping her eyes. "You always say that...but you're a great general, Father. You were the glue holding Lycia together."
"Really? Wow." Hector blinks.
"It's odd, but perhaps I should formally introduce myself…" The girl's brow furrows. "Or maybe that would be a bad idea."
"Nah, don't tell me. I want it to be a surprise."
"That's fair," says the girl. "I'd probably want it to be a surprise too."
A slightly awkward silence falls.
"So," says Hector, trying to break it. "Guess it's weird to see your ol' pop all young, huh?"
The girl actually groans at that. "Father. But yes, it is. You're so...short."
"Hey!" Hector glares at her. "I'm not - "
"Compared to the Father I know, you are," says the girl. "You've got growing to do."
"Fine," Hector grumbles. "Guess that's fair."
"Really, though," the girl says quietly. She's staring at Hector like she thinks he'll disappear at any moment. Which, maybe, he will. "There's so much I still have to learn. I'm supposed to be the marchioness, and unite Lycia after the war, but - but I don't know what I'm doing. I've studied for this, but...I'm not ready."
"I'm not ready either," says Hector heavily. "Believe me."
He tries not to think about the war, or all his suspicions that the girl's words are confirming. Probably best not to meddle with something like that.
"So…" The girl's brow creases as she frowns with thought. "Did Uncle Uther just…"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"Nah, don't worry about it." Hector swings his arms. "But I figure we're in about the same boat right now. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, that's for sure."
"That's...not very comforting…" says the girl, looking at the ground. She suddenly brightens, though, her head jerking up. "Oh, but! You went on to do a great job! So - so even though I'm as lost as you, maybe I'll be able to be a strong marchioness, too."
"There you go," says Hector with relief. "Exactly what I was going to say." Which is a lie, but whatever. He's glad to see her - not smile exactly, but not look completely miserable.
"I swore I would make Ostia into a land where our children can always be happy," says the girl quietly. "I hope I can do it."
"Woah, woah, 'our' children?" Hector stares at her. "You can't be older than fourteen - "
"I'm sixteen!" The girl pouts. "And it was like...a metaphorical thing. The next generation of Ostian children. Not my children. I don't have children."
Hector deflates. "Oh, well, that's good. You should really wait a few more years. Just some, uh, fatherly advice."
"I know that!"
"That's a good dream, though," says Hector quickly. "The making children happy thing. Very thoughtful of you."
"You really think so?" The girl's smile is hesitant, trembling at the corners, but genuine.
"Sure!" Hector's not sure why, but he'd pick up all the cursed axes in the world to see that smile again. "You're on the right track. It's good to have goals." He sounds like Eliwood. Then again, Eliwood's always better with kids, so maybe he should lean into it.
"That means a lot to hear," the girl mumbles, ducking her eyes. "More than you can know. Thank you."
"I think I do know, actually."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Hector knows his smile looks fake, but he's tired of trying to make it look anything but. "I'd give anything to hear it, believe me."
"Then I'll tell you," says the girl. "You are. You are on the right track."
Hector feels like his throat is closing up.
"I'd know that, wouldn't I?" The girl sounds wistful. "I want to be half the marquess you were. That's all I want."
Hector doesn't trust himself to answer without crying. But the girl seems to understand, either way.
***
"Hey…" Father's form is starting to fade. "I think I'm waking up. Time to go."
"No!" Lilina grabs his arm. "No, you can't go yet!"
"I can't stay, either." Father rests a hand on her head. "You know that."
"But - but you have to tell me what to do!" Tears pour down Lilina's face. "I can't do this alone! The throne...it's too big for me!"
Father's eyes go soft, contemplative. "Yeah...it's too big for me, too."
"But you do it. I know you do it." Lilina sniffles. "You can't know I'll do it. You haven't - it hasn't happened yet, for you or for me…"
"I'm sure you'll do it, too. You're my kid, aren't you?" It's funny seeing Father smile without the beard, but it's still Father's smile. Lilina would know it anywhere. "Hey, though...thanks."
"Thanks?"
"Now I remember...what I'm fighting for." Father tilts his head up, closes his eyes. He looks oddly peaceful. "I knew I wasn't going to live a long life...but it's a good one, at least. And I'll have a family again, one day. So I can't give up yet."
"Wait - you knew? You really knew you were going to - " Lilina cuts herself off, but the question burns in her throat.
Father's eyes are sad when he looks at her again. His face is almost transparent. "I'm sorry. I really am. No matter the version of me that I am...I'm sorry I left you alone. But you can do this, you know. I left you a message. I'm sure I did."
Lilina gulps. "You did."
"Then read it, okay? It isn't from me, it's from the me I'll be...but whoever that me is...I'm sure he loved you to the end. And I'm sure he trusted you to lead Ostia when he couldn't anymore."
"Papa…"
"You got this, kid." There's almost nothing left of him now, nothing but the smile. "I know it."
"I love you," Lilina whispers, but he's already gone, and then the world dissolves around her.
***
Hector opens his eyes.
The throne room's back to normal, as orderly and neat and undamaged as ever. His back hurts from falling asleep hunched in the chair, but everything else is unchanged.
Hector sits up straight, rubbing his eyes. They still hurt.
Well. That sure was...something.
There's a knock on the door. "Young master? Er...my lord? Is everything okay in there?"
"Fine, Matthew," says Hector. His voice is a little hoarse, and he hopes Matthew is tactful enough not to mention it. It's a lost cause to hope he wouldn't notice. "Something up?"
"Missives from the other marquesses have arrived," Matthew calls through the closed door. "Wanting to know plans for the League and your coronation."
Hector groans. "Vultures."
"You're correct there."
Hector looks down at the cavernous throne around him.
"Shall I have Oswin handle them?"
"No, no. I'm coming." Hector gets heavily to his feet. "Work to do, after all."
"You sound unusually diligent, my lord."
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"That's what I thought." Hector crosses the throne room (it doesn't seem quite as long, now) and pushes the door open. Matthew's standing there, his small frame loaded down with stacks of paper. "Well, don't just stand there. Let's head along to the study and get to work."
"Very well. My lord?"
"Yeah?"
Matthew hesitates, an unusual expression crossing his face that Hector can't put a name to. "Are you...certain you're all right?"
Hector rubs at his eyes, knowing they're red. "Little tired. Just fine. Come on. Ostia's not going to lead itself, after all."
"Too true." Matthew hurries along at Hector's heels as he sweeps down the hall. "But nobody would fault you for...taking time to yourself."
"Eh, I've had enough of that. Quiet introspection isn't my style." Hector shoves open the door to Uther's study.
His study, now. His castle, his land.
He'll protect them all. He'll build a future.
"There's a certain spark in your eyes, my lord, isn't there?" Matthew peers up at him as he sets the tower of letters down on the desk.
"Is there?"
"Yes." Matthew smiles. "It's good to see it again. It had gone out for a little while, there."
Hector sits down at the desk with a sigh. "Well, all this paperwork's sure to extinguish it for good. Let's get to work. We've got lots to do."
***
Lilina opens her eyes.
They're stinging as she blinks rapidly, trying to get that uncomfortable dried-out feeling to go away. And her back hurts from curling up like that.
It had just been a dream. But it hadn't been, had it? She can remember every detail, so vividly…
Lilina jerks to her feet and half-races down the throne room aisle, practically knocking down the doors as she rips them open.
Gwendolyn turns in alarm. "My lady?"
"Is Astolfo around?" Lilina pants out. "It's urgent - "
"Here, Lady Lilina." The man melts out of the shadows. "What can I do for you?"
"Are there any portraits of my father from when he was young? As a teenager, perhaps?"
Astolfo lifts an eyebrow. "For the memorial service?"
"Something like that."
"Hm...well, I think there's one in the east drawing room."
"The east drawing room? Nobody ever goes in there."
"Reckon that's why your father had it hung there, m'lady. Right this way." Astolfo sweeps down the hall, and Lilina rushes after him. The journey passes in a blur, and before long Astolfo is shouldering the creaky door open.
The room's dusty, but Lilina ignores it all as she crosses it to look up at the painting hanging on the wall. Two men, one young and one older. The elder has a scar across his face, heavy armor and a placid smile. The younger...has slicked-back hair, lighter armor, folded arms, and an almost grouchy expression - one clearly expressing a desire to be anywhere else.
It's him. And Lilina's never seen this painting, or at least looked at it closely enough to recognize its inhabitant - so she couldn't have imagined it all, could she? That meant it was really…
"Nobody's left alive who could share the story behind this painting," says Astolfo, drawing nearer to her. "But far as I know, Lord Hector was never fond of it."
"I can see why," says Lilina, letting out a wet chuckle. "He looks as though he's being threatened at swordpoint. That's my uncle, isn't it?"
"Yes, I reckon so, though he was long gone by the time I was hired. It's sad." Astolfo lets out a gusty sigh. "They both died way too young."
Lilina nods.
"Would you like to be alone, m'lady?"
Lilina sniffles. "It's all right. I...I must return to my quarters for a moment." She thinks of the unopened envelope on her desk. "There is something I must do. But if you and the others would...prepare my study for me. When I return, we'll be getting to work. This won't be easy...but I'm going to do it."
Astolfo salutes. "Aye, aye, m'lady. Very well said."
"A land where our children can always be happy," Lilina murmurs. "A future."
I'll build one, Father. I'll protect your home. Just wait and see.