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It begins with a touch.
She leans over her, curling wisps of white tickling her cheek and the softness of her bosom pressing into her shoulder. She is bending, pointing – presumably to the map on the table in front of her, and to the lines that have been drawn, then scribbled out, then drawn again. She is ever so close, and Lucina drowns in her scent: she smells of metal – of iron and steel – and of the bitter scent of magic, like incense in a muggy room. It is the scent of mystery, of fortune and future.
In another instant, the touch is gone, replaced only by the ghost of her warmth. The woman is moving again, and this time draws close to the king, pointing to the same mark on the map. She looks at him as an old friend, and her touch is innocent. When she glances in Lucina’s direction, she smiles that same sweet smile, and her heart catches in her throat.
When her attention is drawn back to the plan, she lets the feeling go, but she does not forget it.
It happens again, a single touch in a single, fleeting instant.
The battlefield is painted with blood, and reeks of copper and leather and horse. Their units are hurt, and despite their best efforts, the enemy is still relentless. Lucina’s armor is beaten, and the pads around her shoulder have been sliced apart, revealing her bloodied skin.
She is there, next to her. She should be with Father, Lucina thinks, but the king is happy enough fighting alongside his wife. The two work as one, slashing among the fallen Pegasus feathers and fallen bodies in a graceful dance of death. When she sees them, it makes her heart ache. Two souls, so passionately in love, bound to a life of war and deceit: it is hell.
She remains at Lucina’s side, wasted tome cast to the ground. She meets her eyes, and a worried frown falls upon her full, pink lips.
“You’re hurt,” she states, and reaches out towards Lucina’s wound. Her fingers ghost over the exposed skin, and the other hand pushes the torn armor away to get a better look. “I’ll call for a healer.”
“Don’t,” Lucina stops her, and catches her wandering hand in her own. The woman blinks and looks surprised, and a bit concerned. (For her? Why should she be? Was she concerned as a tactician fretting over a pawn, or as a friend? As an asset to the king, or something more?) “I am fine. There are others who need the clerics’ attention more than I, so do not fret. I can fight.”
The woman’s snowy eyebrows furrow. She does not believe her. “I’m your partner, and I was supposed to protect you. I’m sorry for letting an attack slip by me. I promise that it won’t happen again.” And her expression – her frown, her clenched fists, her wrinkles – proves that she is honest. She has to be.
The words resonate with Lucina: they echo throughout her mind and beat in the hollow crevasses of her heart. She realizes that she is still holding her hand, and she lets go as if she has just been burned by Arcfire.
“Don’t concern yourself with me,” she says, and faces the battle. Much is left to be fought – she has no time for her mind to wander.
The third time it occurs, Lucina is seated in the makeshift meal-hall, in her residential corner. Even when the camp moves and the tents shift, Lucina always chooses the same place: meal-time is for eating, not coddling, and she would prefer to eat alone. She always does.
The meat is too salty, and the potatoes have been boiled to the point of slop. The food has never been satisfying, and the future from which Lucina came was also bare of nourishment. It is animal food, pig-feed: she almost wants to throw it up, but she knows that she needs the energy. So she eats, and eats, and washes the slosh down with stale water.
She hears a voice call to her, and then feels a tender hand glide across her back from shoulder to shoulder. The woman wraps her way around Lucina until she is seated across from her, a smile dancing on her lips.
“So, I’ve been out wandering outside of the camp, and I found something pretty exciting,” she whispers. She is leaning close, as if divulging a secret. She has been doing this frequently: seeking out Lucina, whispering to her, winking and laughing. It is confusing.
Lucina does not know how to respond, so she chooses not to try.
The woman continues. If she is disheartened by Lucina’s coldness, she does not reveal it. “I found an overgrown orchard. There were vines snaking up the trees, and rabbits digging up the roots… and I looked for a farmhouse, but there was none. So, I took it upon myself to nab a treat or two.” She reaches up her long, billowing sleeve, and pulls out something shining: an apple, red and fat with juice, its skin glistening in the torchlight.
The sight of the fresh fruit makes Lucina’s mouth water. It has been so long since she has tasted sweetness, she can hardly remember how to describe it. However, she does not want to let her guard down, not around this… woman.
“You stole it,” she states simply, and tries not to drool.
“I would’ve paid for it, should I have found the farmer. The place was abandoned – the only competition was a couple of startled birds and annoyed-looking squirrels.” The woman chuckles, and she’s so close, Lucina can practically taste her laughter: it is what she would compare to sweetness, should she have recalled the flavor. “Don’t worry, I told Frederick where it was, and I think he’s going to fetch some for the entire army. I have to admit, though, that I plucked the most delicious and ripe-looking ones I could find. I hope the rest are fine enough.”
She is still holding out the apple. “I nabbed this one just for you,” the woman explains, and pushes it closer towards her. “Take it.”
The offer is incredibly tempting. The fruit is far more appealing than the feed on her plate. The woman is dangling it in front of her, like bait before a foolish fish. Lucina does not trust it.
“Why me?” she asks, ripping her gaze away from the fruit just to see what may pass over the woman’s face.
“Because I like you, that’s why. Do you need more of a reason?”
Lucina blanches, and blushes, and blubbers for words. Laughter is her only response. The embarrassment creeps up from her heart to her neck and her cheeks, and in a desperate effort to hide her shame, she moves to snatch the apple. She raises it to her lips and grazes over the supple skin with her teeth. When she sinks down into a bite, the overwhelming sweetness pops: her mouth is overrun with sugar. Juice dribbles down her chin and it tickles, but she cannot bring herself to care. The flavor is one of spring skies and emerald forests, of youth and jam-filled breads and sunlight’s soft kiss.
A touch startles her out of her reminiscence. With a feather-light grace, the woman stretches and wipes away the juice from Lucina’s lower lip. She stares at the droplets beading on her thumb, tilts her head, and then licks them away with a flick of her tongue.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” Her lips have curled in mischief, and the shadows in the room accent the dips of her cheekbones and chin. She looks like a siren, Lucina thinks: a fairy, come to whisk her away.
She stands and hastens out of the hall. She takes the apple with.
The next time, she has it coming.
It is the night after a successful battle, and the army’s spirits are high. War itself is evil, at its core… but in these moments, in the afterglow of victory, even Lucina finds herself bathing in the glory of death. It is childish and foolish, but during these nights, her resolve weakens.
The ale that they have been lugging around for such an occasion has been opened, and the entire army is rejoicing over frothed mugs and fresh meat. Lucina lowers her guard and joins the festivities. She is hesitant at first, but after some playful prodding by her peers of her time, she takes a mug for herself.
One by one, the warriors approach Lucina and clap her on the back. Nice job out there, they compliment. You fought valiantly. Another victory earned.. Another ale, for everyone!
After the first ale, Lucina is already warm. Her cheeks are burning, and the glittering lights from the torches and the stars warp in a dizzying display. She stumbles and bumps into sweaty backs and hot fabric, but she finds herself laughing along with the crowd, anyway.
She finds the siren of a woman surrounded by her comrades. Her father and mother are also there, although they are not the first to see her: instead, it is the woman. It is always the woman. Her brown eyes sparkle, and Lucina grins at the sight. She is beautiful, here in the wonder of the night.
The woman approaches her and reaches an arm around her shoulder. “I didn’t expect you, of all people, to show up to one of these after-parties. You don’t usually come to these things, do you?” She is pushing her away from the commotion of the older adults surging around their king. “Come on, I don’t think we should let Chrom see you like this. He’ll freak out. I don’t want to know how Sumia will react, either.”
Lucina lets herself be guided. She feels like she is gliding underneath her tactician’s touch, even though her actual gait is marred by ungraceful stumbling. “T-this is my first time,” she stutters, although the smile remains pulled over her lips.
“How many ales did you have?” the woman wonders aloud, and her worried tone sucks the joy from Lucina’s face. “You look like a wreck. We should get you back to your tent, before something ends up happening. I don’t want you regretting anything.”
The words prick her, like a sharpened blade. Lucina wriggles away from the other’s hold, but she cannot escape. The ale has weakened her bones. “I am no child. You need not treat me like one,” she growls, and continues to struggle.
“Nobody said you were a child. You just can’t hold your liquor, apparently. You get that from your father.” She massages her shoulder. “The celebrating should be over soon, anyway. It’s time for rest.”
Lucina hisses and shakes. “You are no mother of mine. I am not your responsibility. And I—I can hold my own, ale or no.” The venom laced in her words is less poignant due to her occasional stutter.
The woman pauses. “I hope you don’t think of me as your mother. I didn’t mean to come off like that. I’m just—your friend, and I’m saving you from waking up in the dirt, drunk and dry. That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?” She sounds hurt. It appears that Lucina really has wounded her, this time.
“I did not mean it in that sense,” she tries again. “You are my friend, and I thank you. I simply think that you need not care for me in this instance.”
She looks over into the woman’s eyes. Her mouth is slightly open, she sees, and her wet lips shimmer in the light. She does not know how to respond. They are both quiet, until the white-haired beauty finds the words she had been struggling for.
“I always care for you,” she says, words hardly above a whisper. They are far from the party now, and the only noises are the rustle of the leaves, the faint murmur of laughter, and the sound of their haggard breaths. “I was hoping you would’ve noticed that, by now.”
Lucina has noticed it. How could she have not? The woman cares for her entire army as if they were her own children, but with Lucina, her look is different. It is mischievous, dirty – like she is hiding a secret. She sees the way that she speaks to her king: she sees her solemn eyes, her appreciative grin, and her occasional playful jab, and nothing more. But when she looks at Lucina, it is as if she transforms. Her eyes darken, her lips curl into a smirk, and her hands are always on her, wandering and curious.
Lucina has never known what to think, until now. Perhaps the ale has something to do with it.
“You think me a fool?” she murmurs, and draws a little closer. The woman stares back at her, blinks, and of course she knows exactly what Lucina is thinking – she always does. Her eyelashes flutter, and she releases a heavy breath.
She says, huskily, “You know I don’t,” and then pulls Lucina in for a slow kiss. Her lips are soft, softer than Lucina ever could have imagined, and her breath is hot. She melts, then, into her tactician’s strong arms, overcome with emotion and alcohol and lust.
“You taste of ale,” the woman chortles. “Come on, let’s get you to your tent. Sleep, for now, is the best thing.”
Lucina passes out on the way there.
The fifth time, Lucina needs it. She begs for it.
She has been holding herself back from chasing the woman across camp and from stealing kisses in front of their allies. She cannot let herself be perceived as weak, she tells herself. The heart is the most fragile part of every woman and man alike, and she cannot be seen as weak. Only one is allowed to see her at her most vulnerable.
She manages to catch her, leaving the king’s tent on a smoky evening. She knows that they have been discussing grave matters – both her love and her father’s shoulders sag with grief. Even when she exits, the woman looks pale. The color only returns to her face when she notices Lucina, standing with her back against a nearby tree.
A warm smile blossoms across her face. “Lucina, my dear,” she calls, and approaches her. “You weren’t waiting for me, were you?” She takes her hand and leaves a tender kiss upon her cuffs.
Lucina does not answer the question. “You look shaken. What were you discussing?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. You don’t need to worry about it – just the same old boring strategies.” She presses closer and plants another kiss on Lucina’s cheek. She speaks into her skin. “You mustn’t worry about it.”
“You cannot tell me not to fret. It is my duty to protect the future, and my parents.” Lucina squeezes her eyes shut. The softness of the woman’s touch is terribly distracting. “You are one of those people I must protect, as well.”
The woman pulls away. Lucina can clearly see the black bags under her eyes and the permanent wrinkles on her forehead. She looks awful.
“Thank you, my love,” she calmly says, and pats her shoulder. “If there were news, you know that I would tell you. It’s the same as it ever was.” She gives her a squeeze, then a kiss on the forehead, and with a swish of her long jacket, she turns away. “You should sleep, now. It’s been a long day for us all.”
Before she can begin to walk, Lucina grabs her wrist. White-hot rage bursts behind her eyes and trails down the curve of her cheeks in wet, burning streaks.
“You are treating me like a child, again! Why must you always do this? You know that I am strong, and that I do not need protecting! It is I that must protect you, and Father and Mother!” Her hold is deathly tight. “You say that there is no news, and yet you look like death. You say that you love me, yet you do not share anything with me! What am I to you, if not your love? Am I just another woman, pining after you like the rest? Do you not care for me as I do you?”
Her words run from her mouth before she can catch them. She is shaking, and gripping onto the woman like she is the only thing keeping her grounded. She hates this, how this woman can be so brilliant and beautiful and kind, but so very selfish, and so absorbed. Could she not see how Lucina cared for her? Did she care at all?
Touches as gentle as first snow brush her cheek and wipe the tears away. When Lucina opens her eyes, she sees the woman through the blear of tears. Her eyes are sparkling, cool stars in the warm night.
“Oh, Lucina, please don’t cry,” she whispers, voice as soft as light. “I love you more than the sky and the sea and everything else on this planet – you know that. I know that it’s hard, but—it’s just that. It’s this war that’s taking a toll on me, that’s all. You must believe me.” She wraps her arms around Lucina and pulls her into an embrace. She is warm, and her hair smells of ember.
Lucina finds herself enveloped in the hold, and she clings desperately to the woman’s shirt. She still does not believe her, no matter what gentle lies were whispered into her ear, but she does not care. She has longed for this touch for too long, and she cannot hold out for much longer. She lets herself have this dream, if only for a night.
“You must not think of me as a child anymore,” Lucina demands, firmly. She tugs on the shirt. “I am your lover. You need not be gentle with me, for I am yours.”
“Mine, hm? I like the sound of that.” She kisses the side of Lucina’s head. “Have I been neglecting you? I’m sorry, it’s just been so busy. I’ve hardly had time to even sleep.”
“Sleep with me,” Lucina says before she can stop herself. A blush as bright as flame flares upon her face, and she is thankful that it is so dark outside. “W-well, I mean—perhaps, if we were to share quarters, you might find yourself more relaxed. I-I will do my best to soothe you as best as I can—”
Her rambling is cut short by a laugh. “You don’t need to be embarrassed around me, Lucina. You’re incredibly obvious.” She interlaces their fingers, and takes a step back. “Let’s go there now, shall we?”
And she chuckles again – Lucina assumes it is because of the ridiculous expression on her face. She leads the insufferable woman to her tent anyway, and puts out the light. The bed is small and cramped, and Lucina hastily apologies for insinuating that it would be anything different, but the woman does not let her. She kisses her quiet, and pushes her down onto the bed, stripping away leather and armor until she is bare.
Lucina lets herself be touched – she yearns for it. Hands wander up her stomach, thighs, and breasts, squeezing and massaging with fingers gentle. Teeth nibble at her shoulder and then at her throat, and her lips suck and unravel whatever was left of that resolve knitting Lucina together. Her every dip and curve are touched, mapped, memorized, and when she cries into the starry night, it is only for the ears of one: my love, my darling, my Robin.
The sixth time, it is Lucina who reaches for her.
She has to.
She has no choice.
“…I have memories of him, you know. From when I was little. Before he… died.”
And she can see it – she can see the realization twinge behind Robin’s eyes, wide and wonderful as they always have been. If she looks at her for too long, she knows that she will falter. So she continues talking, loud and clear, and draws the hungry Falchion as she prepares for blood.
“Don’t make it harder! Don’t resist, and your death will be swift and painless.” She twists the blade in her hand, and reaches. The very tip of her sword touches the center of Robin’s throat, and she sees how she flinches.
Robin is staring at her, gaze holding firm. She is thinking. Lucina can barely stand it.
“Very well. My life is yours… it always has been.”
Lucina sucks in a breath and holds her ground. She does not let the tears fall: she cannot let Robin see. She could never live with herself.
“I would give my life for Chrom, and for you.” She pauses, and then speaks, but Lucina can hardly hear her over the beating of her heart pounding in her ears. “…Just, promise me you won’t be alone.”
She is so accepting, so ready. She is unbelievably kind and breathtakingly beautiful, as is natural for her. She kneels, ready for the sword to strike her down. She keeps eye contact and waits, breathes, trusting her love until the very last second.
Lucina can’t do it.
She never thought she could.