“ Oh, dear … ” Her voice flutters gently as she at once feels sheepish, faintly. In their months-long absence, Camilla had forgotten it was not uncommon for her jests to be met at face-value. Xander, once, was something of a master in receiving her teasing in seeming sincerity, and she had too often responded in kind after all … before finding the play turned on her. With regard to Leo, she was not so consistently certain — as she is not now. “ … Perhaps it would rather suit you, actually. A sign of storms weathered … Just take care to not appear too much older beyond your years. ”
It does not fill the halls as loudly as Elise’s and Leo’s bickering, her teasing. Anything evocative of warmth between siblings naturally invites comparison with dear Elise, she realises now. Nevertheless, she takes solace in the fact that it is enough to light even a small fire, to chase away the old shadows of the castle’s throne room.
The comfort, as so often she finds, is brief.
Even quite aware she herself has called their meeting, she feels no ease in speaking. There is that cautious hope in her eye, yes, as she is assured by her brother’s confession. They have suffered, all four, and though knowing their solidarity in this cruelty, it had been left unsaid so many times … To hear it even now vindicating. The light of her gaze is dimmed only when she realises she cannot yet speak freely, no matter that she has turned at least her first words over and over in her mind as she waited for him.
“ … I wish to talk of Garon. Of— Of our father.
“ I would speak to Xander about it, about him — how he would raise his voice so, denigrate us, lash out. Maybe … Maybe I was being too soft, too sensitive, I know, to so eagerly question the temperament and authority of a father, and greater still a king— ” Camilla’s breath hitches as she remembers herself. She remembers where she is, even, as she looks past her brother out into the empty room: she has never really noticed how different it all looks, from up upon the dais. ( Before she shakes her head free of the image, she sees herself there on the floor, head bowed and gaze low. )
“ I thought I found myself certain in my feelings, even if I kept them to myself: that there can be no excuse for how he acted … But after everything, now, I am not so sure. ”
Leo falls silent, a frown on his face replacing his earlier ease. He threads his arms behind his back and turns his gaze to the stone walls. This is... a topic he would not have dared broach in the past. It feels dangerous to speak of it even now, despite his earlier conviction that the King’s iron grip had lifted. Leo realizes now the ghost of his hands are still around their throats. Despite Garon’s absence, the sensation still lingers.
Perhaps speaking of it was the start to exorcising them permanently.
“He wasn’t the man I remembered him to be when we were children. He ceased to be that man long ago. It was simply easier to cling to nostalgia and make excuses than face the truth,” he states, plain and without emotion, “I’m surprised you sought out Xander to speak with. I imagine that he... more than anyone, would not have stood for questioning our father.”
It pains him to speak of their brother. The loss still aches. Xander had been dutiful and righteous, a pillar of strength they relied on time and again, but with that same strength he defended a man who no longer was.
No, what remained of Garon was not unlike the monster Corrin had described. A beast that bared its fangs in this very room, a creature incapable of caring. Leo does not know when or how the father of his memories became that monster, and he’s less sure he wants to work through those sore memories to come up with a theory that can never be validated.
“You weren’t wrong. He may have cared for us once, but that was not who sat on this throne and used us to wage his war for years. We were tools to him. That was the extent to which he cared.”
