In Transition

I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters.

Non-entry to the fe_contest Challenge 020, "Crossover."

Author's Note: I don't enter fe_contest on LJ anymore because I'm a mod, but sometimes a theme kind of grabs me. This particular 'fic is the kind of thing that pops into the brain during an idle moment and refuses to go away, even if you have no intention of writing it, much less publishing it, when it materializes. Three different incidents this year- one in the family, one at work, one in my circle of colleagues- combined to fuel it, and so here it is anyway. Warning: Deals with mortality and adulthood, though hopefully in a way that isn't entirely bleak.

Thanks to Manna for giving this a once-over for clarity!

Leonster Castle, in the ninth year of King Leif's reign

Nanna counted out her own breaths- seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty- as she felt the blood coursing through her father's left wrist. He looked on without curiosity as Nanna allotted the space of sixty breaths to each of the pulse points in that wrist.

"That's good. Let me see your right hand now."

He offered it up in silence, and Nanna pressed her fingers to the first pulse point. It felt the same as the left, she decided, even before the sixty breaths were up- slow, uneven, almost choppy, with the feel of a knife scraping against a reed. Sometimes it seemed to miss a beat entirely before resuming its rhythm.

"I'll let you rest. I don't think I need to bother you any more today," she said as she relinquished his hand. They regarded one another at the distance that separates a healer from her patient. He asked no questions, and she provided no answers, but Nanna felt they understood each other well enough. Too well, perhaps; the moment was hardly a comfortable one.

It would take a heart of ice bound in steel not to feel discomfort on her part, Nanna thought as she looked her father over once more. His face, once darkened by the sun in his travels, had slowly paled to the color Nanna remembered from when she was a child and they lived in walled cities. Now, it seemed a shade off that, even- not white like the pillows behind it, certainly, but not a healthy color... and from that alone she'd sensed that his collapse that morning had causes deeper than the summer heat.

"I'm sorry to have become a burden to you," he said now, and it struck Nanna as so very typical of her father that his main reaction to this sudden infirmity was shame. He was embarrassed to have lost his senses even briefly, chagrined that he had addressed Leif as "Lord Quan" on regaining consciousness.

"You shouldn't feel you must apologize for this." Her own hands, Nanna realized, were clasped in front of her, twisted like the hands of a nervous child. She deliberately unclasped them. "Is there anything you need?"

"A quill and some paper," he said. "I have some things I'd like to write down."

"Of course." She touched his hand again- not as a healer, this time, but as a daughter.

-x-

The king of New Thracia had elected to hole up in his study for the day, alone with his books and his papers. Nanna entered to find her husband in an atypical state of undress; he'd loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his jacket, while his mantle lay on the chair opposite his desk, wadded up into a packet with uneven corners. Its scarlet lining looked harsh and ugly, an open wound in the violet-tinged blue velvet.

"Sorry," he muttered as he scooped his mantle off the chair so that she could sit. Instead of placing it down elsewhere, he held it to his chest as one might cradle a folded flag. He avoided making eye contact, forcing Nanna to address his profile as he looked resolutely out the window. She sighed to herself and broke the news without preamble.

"Father doesn't have much time left."

"What does that mean?" He still refused to look her way.

"Three days. Four days, maybe."

He turned to face her then. Back during the battle for Thracia, such news would have produced outcry, and Nanna still half-expected her husband to shout a denial. As it was, she could read his reaction in the set of his jaw and the adamantine glint of his eyes. But King Leif had earned a reputation for restraint, for the kind of self-control that formed a part of what men called wisdom, and the words came out quietly, evenly. But grudgingly, she thought, as though each word did cost Leif something just to say it.

"Cethe won't even remember him. Alfiona will, but Cethe won't."

"He might. Altena does have some memories yet of your parents, and she was nearly Cethe's age when you lost them."

He looked away again, but not before she saw his resolute expression crumble like a mask of rotten plaster.

-x-

Leif went to check on Finn shortly before dinner; he found his father-in-law sitting up in his bed and reading. Leif at first took the small leather-bound volume with gilt pages to be a prayer-book, but on a second glance he realized it was a handwritten journal.

"That's your own handwriting, Finn. What is that?"

"I kept an account of your father's campaigns in Verdane and Agustria. I stopped it once we fled to Silesse, after I realized anything in those accounts might be taken the wrong way if it fell into the wrong hands. I nearly burned what was already written."

"I'm glad you didn't," said Leif as he stared as the creases in the worn spine of the journal. "I didn't realize you'd kept anything from then."

"It wasn't something I wanted to look back upon often. Even now, it's almost painful to read it and realize how little I truly understood."

"I'm sure if I'd kept a journal of what I was thinking and feeling during the fight for Thracia, I'd feel the same way now," Leif said. "Still... now I almost wish I had. I suppose at the time I thought I couldn't possibly forget."

Finn smiled a little at this, and Leif could have said more, but the ambassador from Grannvale was the dinner guest that night and should not be kept waiting. When Leif returned, three hours and more later, he found Finn long since fallen asleep, with the journal set aside on the table by his bed.

"Shall I wake him, Your Majesty?"

"No, please don't. I just want to sit with him awhile."

He felt oddly relieved that Finn was sleeping. He was afraid, Leif admitted to himself, afraid that Finn would slip back three decades into the past, would start talking the way had that morning when laid out on the mosaic floor of the throne room, his head resting upon the makeshift cushion of Leif's mantle.

"Forgive me, Lord Quan... I said I wouldn't be much help to you."

Leif didn't need to hear that ever again. He was glad the old journal had given them something to talk about earlier, as Leif had gone to visit not knowing what in the least he might say. Now he reached for the journal- not to read, he promised himself, but just to pass his fingers over the relic of his father's days- only to realize upon lifting it that a half-written letter lay concealed beneath it. Leif set the journal back in its place. Shame on him, he thought, for picking over Finn's belongings, whatever his intent.

Besides, he had come with a covert intention, and a nobler intention than prying through that journal. Leif had brought along his own healing staff, the Recover staff he'd used in battle. It never had failed him.

Leif checked to make sure the door had closed securely behind him. Then he stood over Finn and gently placed the orb of the staff on Finn's chest, above his heart. Leif shut his own eyes to block out any distractions and began to concentrate all his intent upon the staff, using it as an extension of his senses. Once he was "seeing" only with the staff, Leif probed cautiously through the world it revealed to him, searching through swirling streams of energy to find the force he recognized as Finn's.

This proved unexpectedly difficult. Alarmingly difficult. And Leif, skilled as he was in manipulating aegir to heal, wasted long minutes in trying before he understood. He couldn't help Finn because there was nothing to use; the aegir was depleted, like a river run almost dry. Leif opened his eyes and stared into the dimming orb of his staff as though it might tell him something else, something that he wanted to hear. Then he put the staff away, even as prickles of nausea began to play in his gut.

Nanna was right. Finn was going to die.

-x-

Nanna brought the children in for a visit just after breakfast.

"Don't be too loud, Cethe. Grandfather's tired."

Cethe agreed to be good and then proceeded to conduct himself with the childish unconcern of the very young, clambering up on the bed and pretending to be a kitten, which gave him an excuse to curl in a ball beneath the counterpane. This, at least, held to his promise to be quiet, and so Nanna let him. Alfiona hung back at first; she'd asked to bring her actual kitten to cheer up her grandfather, and Nanna had decided against it. She brightened only when Finn asked her about her riding lessons; Alfiona had dreams of being a lady paladin, and Finn had helped her graduate from a pony to a real horse that spring.

The visit proved brief, as Cethe decided he wanted to crawl under the bed and mew. As Nanna sent them both off with their governess, she heard Leif's lament echo in her mind:Cethe won't even remember.

She brought them for a second visit that afternoon, when Alfiona's riding lesson was done and she could share the experience with her grandfather in the disjointed way that children told stories. Finn laughed over Alfiona's account of a very mean bird that crossed her path, and Nanna felt a different kind of regret than the general feeling of apprehension that had settled over her the day before.

-x-

Leif made excuses not to come with them, either on the morning visit or the afternoon one, nor did he stop by to see Finn that evening. Nanna allowed him those three chances, then waited until they were alone to confront her husband over it.

"Leif, why are you afraid to see him?"

The Sage King of Thracia was still no dissembler. His dark eyes widened, and his mouth opened into a small o of surprise at her before he replied.

"Every other time I've lost someone, I- I didn't have time to think about it. My parents, my grandparents... they were gone before I ever really knew them. Your mother went out traveling and never came back, Dorias went riding toward Alster with his men and never came back, Eyvel was turned to stone before I understood what was happening. All I could do about any of it was react to them being gone. But I know this is coming, and I can't stop it, and..." He paused, drew in one deep breath, and continued in a voice so low that Nanna scarcely heard it. "And now I'm afraid that one day I'll lose you the same way, and I can't stand that either."

"Oh... Leif."

There wasn't anything she could say to that, was there?

-x-

Nanna was shocked and yet not entirely surprised when Finn presented Alfiona with his treasured lance the following morning. Shocked, because he'd carried it since before she was born, and giving it away was an admission he'd never need it again... and yet, it made sense to her that Finn wanted to personally give the Hero Lance to its next carrier. Even if Alfiona was far too young to use it now, wouldn't be able to wield it for a good ten years...

She doesn't know its meaning yet, but she will. And she'll remember.

Nanna had less happy things to discuss with her father once the children had again been sent off for their lessons.

"Sister Londa said you didn't want anything to eat this morning."

"I don't," he replied, and Nanna knew when her father could not be moved from a position. She knew the tone of voice, the frosty look to his eyes; a part of him never had softened up, even if he laughed at the antics of Cethe and Alfiona as he'd never once laughed when Nanna was that age.

"Do you at least want something to drink?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you in any pain? Please be honest with me."

He frowned a little; it almost seemed a quizzical look, as though he didn't really know how to answer.

"When we were fighting for Thracia," he finally said, "there were days when exhaustion would take over, to the point where I couldn't get back on the horse no matter how much I willed myself to do it. I don't think I'd ever felt that tired before."

"Yes, I remember that." Nanna could still feel that ache of fatigue in her bones if she thought about it long enough. She remembered being so tired her eyes hurt, so tired her scalp felt too tight around her skull. So tired that even talking of food made her stomach heave.

"This is much the same," her father said.

In the end, he did ask her for something to drink; he said he wanted to sleep without any dreams. Nanna agreed he could have it; she didn't know what her father saw in the night, but she suspected he had good reasons for wanting to escape those dreams.

-x-

Nanna had nailed it. He was scared. Not just scared that Finn would look at him again without knowing him, or would try to talk to him about things that happened before Leif was even born as though Leif had lived them, was living them; Nanna said that her father was perfectly lucid and hadn't been doing any of that. Leif was afraid of what he would say, or what he ought to say and couldn't. Or what he shouldn't say and must anyway.

It wasn't as though he'd never said things to Finn. Leif had blurted out more than enough over the years, in moments of triumph and of desperation. And it was cheating, wasn't it, to say anything more now?

I've said all along that I pretended that Raquesis and Eyvel were my mothers, but I never did tell you that when we were in Fiana, I pretended you were my father, that we were all there like it was meant to be- you and Eyvel, with me and Nanna and Mareeta. And I was happy there, happier than I ever was before then. I never told you, because it always seemed wrong, disloyal... I thought you'd scold me for it. I think you would have.

It was silly, wasn't it, to even bring such a thing up after so many years? What good would it do them to talk now of things they'd stepped around for all of Leif's existence?

I remember when you first put a wooden sword into my hands. I remember when I fell off my pony and you put me back on. I remember how you'd pretend that we were going on exciting travels to hide the fact that we were running for our lives. I remember how I felt when I realized you'd been hit by that arrow that was meant for me. I remember the look in your eyes when I asked you to teach me to use a lance the way you used it. I said I wanted to use a lance like my father, but I didn't mean Quan. I didn't only mean Quan.

I think you knew that. I hope so. I hope so.

The words not spoken made his throat hurt. Leif realized that it was close to midnight, that his wife had been with her father for hours, and that he himself was being what he'd sworn not to be at the age of fifteen- a coward. Running away.

He found Nanna sitting at Finn's side, staring at a neat stack of sealed letters on the bedside table, next to the tattered journal of Prince Quan's wars.

"He gave Alfiona his lance this morning," she said, so obviously tired she sounded cross about it. "The one your father gave him..."

"Yes, I knew that's what you meant." Leif rubbed his wife's tense shoulders until her head drooped forward. "You need to sleep, Nanna. I'll stay the night with him."

"Not all night. Thracia needs its king..." The sentence ended in a yawn. "I'll just rest a few hours."

They were all of them fooling themselves, Leif thought as he settled into the chair Nanna vacated. Finn was sleeping on his side now, drawing in deep, slow breaths that seemed to have too long a pause between them. Leif listened to the odd sound for a while, then reached out and brushed Finn's shoulder with his fingertips. This tentative touch didn't rouse Finn, not that Leif expected it to. The failure made Leif feel like even more of a coward, though, and he stood and reached out a second time, applying just a little pressure...

Nothing. Finn didn't even stir.

Leif sat down again. The awkward position made Finn look older than he was, and far more frail than Leif knew him to be, or maybe it was a trick of the candlelight. He could see the flecks of silver scattered in Finn's hair, flecks that hadn't been there even when Cethe was born. He could see pale gleam of a scar, the memento of a wound older than Leif, that went from the back of Finn's neck clear down to his left shoulder. He probably shouldn't have survived that, Leif thought. I might never have known him.

Lord Quan... I said I wouldn't be much help to you.

Leif closed his eyes and willed that memory out of his mind. After a while longer, he began to talk; knowing he couldn't be heard loosened his tongue.

"I'm glad you wrote those letters for the children. I might have a look at them first, just to see what's in them. I hope you don't mind."

I'm almost afraid to open the one you've addressed to me. I know the things I can't make myself say, and I think I know what you can't make yourself say. But thinking and knowing are two different things...

"I wonder if you're ever planning to tell us what you were doing for those three years. I don't think I ever said how upset Nanna was that Alfiona was born during the time you were gone. My parents were dead, and we never found Raquesis, and then you disappeared, and all Nanna and I had in the world was each other. We didn't even have Altena... she was very melancholy then, and retreated down into Southern Thracia with Dame Eda taking care of her. She was upset that you left, too, I think."

Altena thought you'd abandoned us for good, but that was because she kept thinking everyone hated her for loving Thracia more than Leonster. I knew you'd come back. As much as it hurt, I knew you'd come back one day, and Nanna did too. We never stopped hoping...

There were six letters in all. One addressed to Leif and one to Nanna, one for each of the children. One, too, for Altena. And one, the last in the stack, for Raquesis.

We never stopped hoping we'd all be together again. I guess sometimes that isn't enough, is it?

-x-

Nanna awoke with a sour taste in her mouth and a crick in her neck. At first she couldn't remember why she was needed somewhere, only that she was missing something. Memory struck her like a thunderbolt, and she threw on a robe and dashed to her father's room with her hair uncombed and a frustrated lady's maid in her wake.

The first thing her gaze lit upon was the unruly dark hair of her husband. Leif's head was so tousled he might have just taken a helmet off. But of course he hadn't; he'd fallen asleep with his head resting on Finn's chest.

"Leif!" And it sank in that the room was too quiet. "Father..."

Finn now lay supine, his hands resting at his sides. She suspected Leif had turned him over, given him a little more dignity.

"I'm sorry, Nanna. I would've sent for you, but I didn't realize..." Leif lifted his head, and she could see the shadows of the night etched on his face. "The next breath just didn't come."

"That's all right, Leif. I'm happy that you were at his side."

She felt strange and stiff, as though encased in transparent glass that let in light and color but no feeling. It would hurt later, she thought, but now she simply felt blank as she looked into her father's face. His lips were slightly parted, but otherwise he seemed composed. He'd neither welcomed death or protested against it, she thought, but merely resigned himself to its advent.

"Sit up, Leif."

As her husband obeyed, Nanna placed her fingers at her father's wrist, doing what a healer ought to do when a vigil had ended. Check the pulse, hold a feather to the lips and watch for a breath...

"Oh, I've forgotten my feather."

"I can tell you that he's gone. I checked with my staff." Leif sounded just a little petulant, as he sometimes did when they sparred over the healing arts. "You haven't worn a feather at your ear in years, Nanna. Don't you start going strange on me."

"I'm not going strange, Leif. I'm just trying to... to do what has to be done."

"You're not in any state to do it, and neither am I. But it goes like this, remember?" And together they arranged Finn's hands in the pose of prayer that went back to the days of the Twelve Crusaders, together they recited, in voices blurred by lack of sleep, "Blessed Nova, please watch over your servant."

And then they looked at one another, two groggy and clumsy figures in the pale light of daybreak. A king in the shirt that he'd slept in, a queen in a bathrobe with its hastily-tied sash coming undone.

"I once heard someone say that a girl becomes a woman when her mother dies," said Nanna. "I remember thinking that I became a woman when I was eight. Maybe. Or maybe I never have."

Leif made a small sound that might have been a laugh, a hiccough, or a stifled cry.

"I don't feel like a man. I don't... I don't know anything anymore."

"No. We're adults. We're not the children now. We're..." Her shoulders began to shake.

"Nanna, stop. You have to get a hold of yourself- you're Thracia's queen, remember?"

Nanna managed to collect herself; it surprised her that she was able to put forth the effort.

"You know, you sound just like him sometimes. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No, you haven't." He began to brush down the locks of hair standing every-which-way on his head. "Nanna... would you... would you tell me things like that?"

She stared at him, and understanding began to work its way through her fuzzy mind. A little bit of feeling, cold and unpleasant, began to seep through her coating of glass.

"I'll try," she said.

And so she retied her sash as he combed out his hair, and the two children refashioned themselves into the adults they had to be, and forced their way through the new-dawning day one motion at a time.

The End

PS: Cethe is a mythological character connected with Cian, the apparent antecedent of Quan. Alfiona is canonical the name of Leif's grandmother, a formidable lady who went down defending Leonster's castle. I figured she deserved a tribute.