An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It was the eternal routine of all Emblems. The habits of the living were ingrained in their souls. They all had memories of tears and laughter, hurt and healing, that had been sealed away from them. Whatever force created them, whether it be some divine being or the land of Elyos itselfâ Marth thought it cruel.
Power and experience was what the world required of them. And in doing so, it gave them love and longing with no place to go.
Some called that grief.
Marth had not allowed himself grief in a very long time.
Perhaps, as many things, not ever.
(Emblem Marth accepts that he is alive.)
happy (checks clock) happy valentines day! have some marlear.
Part 2 of The Epic Divorce AU, posted to tumblr since I'm in gay baby jail for uhhh eight more days.
Summary: In one glorious moment stretching on for infinity, the King remembers everything. Every. single. thing.
Until he wakes up again, and it's gone. All he has left is... the Head Housemaiden sitting by his bedside?
(Tentatively Kingphie, spoilers for the whole game, 2.167 words)
Itâs leaving you. No, no, no, NO! You donât want to wake up! You donât want time to move again! Why canât it all stay like this? Why canât you stay like this? You donât care if youâre frozen, you donât care if Vaugarde suffers.
You see it. You see it in the distance. And it drifts across the ocean, further and further away.
Single moments, stretching like taffy between your teeth.
âDo you remember?â
Youâre at the beach. In this memory, youâre running. From what? Toward whom? Something behind you cracks and crackles and caramelizes. Thereâs a bright pinprick in the distance, and youâre barefoot in the lightless sand, uncaring of rock of splinter all to get to them.
Something is wrong. Something is breaking. What are you searching for? Who are you searching for? Thereâs a boat out at sea. Is it that?
Someoneâs behind you. Sheâs smiling. She asks you why youâre so scared. She follows your gaze back to where your home used to be and freezes.
Thatâs the last thing before you trip over into the waves.
âDo you remember?â
You cry and cry and cry because itâs all you can do. Itâs all you can do as your power worms its way through Dormont, through Vaugarde, through your home. Itâs not enough. Itâs not enough.
It wonât ever be enough, until
The scent hits you.
Before they even enter the room, it reeks. It reeks of comfort, it reeks of the Universe. Somebody else has been blessed, same as you. It could only beâŚ
Something forgotten recognizes them. Not the eyepatch or the dagger, but that knowing glint in their eye and the stitching on their cloak. Why do you know what it feels like to the touch?
You need them to remember. They have to remember. Please. Please. Maybe itâll be enough. Maybe two will be enough, but it will never be enough, nothing is ever enough to make up for what you lost
âSAY IT!!!â you beg. You are a King, begging on his knees. Disgraceful. Pathetic. No wonder youâll never be enough.
Blood drips from your mouth. This can only end in tears and blood, but you have to try anway. Itâs all you can do. All you can do is cry and cry and cry out for time and stars to listen to you.
The bright oneâs friends crowd around them. The heroes stand between you both bleeding night onto the ground but you are so close.
You see it. You see flashes of it. You are not in the House in Dormont, you are on a beach at dusk running toward a distant boat, a tiny figure in a darkless hat, you reach out your hand to them andâŚ
âWe just have to say its name!â
You struggle to speak, to force the air out of your throat as it bubbles and coils. Why why why does the Universe grant any wish, but not the one you desire most? Remember, remember, why canât you remember!
The bright one hugs their own chest, shaking their head, crying along with you.
You almost heard it, almost heard their name, âOnce again, we have to try...... Together! â
But they break away from their little group. They stare you dead in the eyes and scream.
âLet it die, let it die, let it die!â
Never. Never never never never. Fine. Fine, youâll do it alone, as you always do it alone, as you are the only person in this blinding country who will ever even bother to try, because you know, you know, you know, no one will remember for you. No one will remember you.
Your throat burns and your lungs burn and your head is swimming your insides melting with every wheezing grasping shaking breath you force out.
Just one syllable, and the next, and
And before it all fades away once more, you see their face, etched into your memory.
âDo you remember?â
You cry and cry and cry because itâs all you can do. Itâs all you can do as your power worms its way through Dormont, through Vaugarde, through your home. Itâs not enough. Itâs not enough.
It wonât ever be enough, until
The scent hits you.
Before they even enter the room, it reeks. It reeks of comfort, it reeks of the Universe. Somebody else has been blessed, same as you. It could only beâŚ
âLetâs stop fighting,â they say. You disguise your laugh as a croaking sob.
You see it. You see it in their eyes. You neednât ask if they remember, because they are trying just as you. But you, youâve had years. Years of distant flashes put together, of research and Color Theory and wishes and stars and the Universe.
TheyâŚ
They are sure of what to say. Even as their friends object, they press on.
Time pulls at your stomach. Youâre sure of it, youâre sure in just enough, in their confident gazeâŚ
âWeâre looking for the same thing,â they say, âJust leave this country be,â they say. And, well, how do they know that? Hm? How could anyone ever know what you truly want, when even the stars refuse to give it to you? No, no, no, you have to take what you want.
And what the bright one wants⌠is surely not the same.
If it was, youâd have won already.
What a fool. As if moving on could ever be enough.
âDo you remember?â
The Bright One is scared of you. Canât they see youâre not trying to kill them? The other ones, the ones you care about much less, are scared of you, too, in ways you expect. You meant for this appearance to intimidate, after all. A king cannot be soft-faced and sweet. He must be cold and jagged, like all the old stories before the kings all died.
âDo you remember?â
You arrived in Dormont with little fanfare. After all, nobody yet knows what you set out to do. But the Universeâs favor sizzles at your fingertips, tugs at your stomach. You froze birds and stray leaves and even fish in the river, so youâre sure itâll work.
The House welcomes you in with open arms. Of course they do. They are Vaugardian, after all. So kind. So sweet. So welcoming. Your strange (forever strange) appearance garners attention of the Housemaidens. You see a ribbon-wearing one skitter back. How cute.
Even the Head Housemaiden welcomes you. She is tall, with long, kinky hair, a wide smile gracing her lips and sheâŚ
sheâŚ
had to be frozen. Immediately. One such as her cannot be allowed to wither. She opposes, of course, always so dear to changing and forgetting but it is a phantom reminder that crashes through your head and compels you to freeze her first.
A terrarium. How did you know that word and so few others..? Somebody had⌠it slips away again.
She reaches out toward something, sweet craft sparkling to life around her in the shape of the Universe. ...what did she do? Well, at least you caught her in this moment. In the moment the Universe shines down upon her face.
Would have been nice had her expression been more serene, but, ah, no matter. As long as she is preserved.
âDo you remember?â
The bright one stops you. How often have they stopped you? How often have you won? Arenât you doing what the Universe wishes? She always thought it did not care. It granted everybodyâs wishes in equal measure, after all, but to you, only those worthy of it gained its favor. Sheâd never liked the stars as much as you did, though she loved hearing you talk about them, hearing you explain constellations to⌠toâŚ
You had to do something to make it stick. To stop the Bright One. Under other circumstances, youâd freeze them instead, but, ah, the child wonât remember, will they? What a shame, what a pity, that the child must die for it to stick, to feel them wriggle in your palm with vigor, with fear.
It wonât stick for the child. It will for the Bright One, you hope. Otherwise it was all for naught.
You needed to believe the Universe still loves you.
Otherwise youâd have to accept thatâŚ
it meant for this to happen.
âDo you remember?â
They are unremarkable. A big hat and a long coat obscures most of their body.
They are unremarkable, but not in Vaugarde. No. No, no, no, not in Vaugarde. Here, they are most remarkable indeed.
They are familiar. So familiar. You trace the shape of their face and try to hold it in your mind as it already slips away like sand (sand, sand, hold the sand, lightless sand in an hourglass).
They are familiar.
So all you can do is ask, âBright One, do you remember?â
You⌠donât know where the term comes from. Itâs just a habit. Big one, pretty one, reading one.
Bright, bright, bright, say it three times for good luck.
They stare at you, resolute. They are here to stop you. To kill you.
You are not afraid of death. You are afraid of oblivion.
âDo you?â
And you laugh. For the first time in so long, you laugh and laugh and laugh, crying all the while.
No, no, no, how could you ever remember? Only broken shattered pieces you can never glue together, words you hold on the tip of your tongue. Flashes of your past, of memory, of family. Somebody warm and something soft, a touch on your face and a hand in your hair -
your own child could stare back at you, and youâd never recognize them.
Of course you donât remember.
Sand slips between your fingers. You call out, reach out, but your fingertips canât even trace the feeling.
âWhat am I supposed to remember?â
Someoneâs braiding your hair. Already, it winds across the bed, onto the floor, and nonetheless, deft fingers weave away the strands.
The Head Housemaiden? Sheâs⌠sitting at the foot of the bed. Your bed. Because youâre not frozen in that hallway anymore. YouâŚ
You cry.
âAwww, donât cry! You just failed to destroy Vaugarde, is all. Here. Have some water.â
A cup of water is unceremoniously shoved in your face. What else are you supposed to do but cry? You had it. You had it all, you had your wish. Why are you here. Unfrozen.
Why are⌠why is it already slipping away� Boat and hat and face and voice and repeat it over and over again--
She pushes the glass of water into your face, spilling a drop on your clothes. Youâre not⌠wearing armor anymore, just an undershirt and cloth trousers. Simple, and comfortable, and not at all intimidating.
You take the water from her hands to avoid her eyes. Itâs easy to tell sheâs still watching, like a cat that caught the canary. Amused.
You swallow. Tastes like sugar.
Some of your headache clears. Now thinking a bit better, you can actually take in your own state. You failed, obviously. You canât even remember what happened after you froze (something about sandâŚ? And a boat?) and looking at the Head Housemaiden makes your stomach lurch. In pursuit of your goal, you havenât eaten or drunk in quite possibly several days.
She puts a hand to your forehead and you sock her for it, except she catches your fist with a barrier spell. Ah.
âYou were much friendlier in your sleep. Just mumbling âdo you rememberâ over and over.â She even pitched her voice down in a very bad imitation of you. As exhausted as you still feel, you can scarcely protest when she pushes you back into the pillow and takes your temperature.
She shakes her head. âStill running a fever, I see. The same thing happened to the traveling one, you know? Craft overuse, what with your⌠reality warping powers, and all that. Time Craft doesnât exist, silly.â She slaps you on the shoulder.
âBut it doesâŚ?â
Maybe itâs the fever, maybe itâs your stomach doing somersaults, but the Head Housemaiden is strangely offputting.
And she keeps chattering. âSeeing as you are still ill, you can stay in the infirmary as you recover. And since all the Housemaidens are terrified of you, youâll be in my care! Isnât that nice?â
âŚ. you nod.
âGlad we agree! And Iâm sure you also agree, someone of your notoriety canât go prancing around Vaugarde again, can they? Once youâre recovered, as resident of the House, you will sadly be obligated to participate in chores, such as cleaning, cooking, or laundry. Usually, Housemaidens will also venture into Dormont to help there, or pilgrimage around the country, or give and take classes, but thatâs not quite on the table for you yet, hm?â
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
When Corrin vanishes into the Bottomless Canyon, the servants of the Northern Fortress are faced with a choice themselves: either continue their duties anew in Castle Krakenburg, or take the chance to leave.
For Felicia and Flora, their own choices are obvious. Their sisters' choice, less so.
(Or: the night Flora leaves.)
This is, ostensibly, kidquest canon, but it is me thinking too much about the ice twins first and foremost. Flora has really grown on me as a character.
... I think having a sibling is like... I guess sisters, and probably brothers, are like air.
[...]
You take air for granted but you'd miss it a lot if it went away. I don't know if that makes sense.
- Clanne to Veyle in their B-Support.
Framme dies in Destinea Cathedral, and Clanne can't breathe anymore.
Happy Engage Month! This means I can finally give you all the fic for my disastrous first engage playthrough on classic mode, in which Hortensia killed Framme, and I kept fucking thinking about it.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
After their falling out in Traverse Town, Sora meets a sister looking for her brother, and Riku meets a brother looking for his sister. They both decide to help out, in their own ways.
Lucina and Morgan find each other again, with a little help along the way.
(Set during the 2nd Traverse Town visit of KH1, except Lucina and Morgan have just arrived in Traverse Town after their world is swallowed by darkness.)
woe. crossover fanfic upon ye. implied chrobin also i love the chrobin siblings.
