Home [Oc x Oc]

Not Quiet at Home

Later within that same evening, around midnight, Cecila and her mother sat within the royal dining hall. Before them was a rather large banquet of food along with two cups of tea, steaming hot as it was fresh from the pot. Between them the only sound was that of the grandfather clock that ticked on as time passed. Both women were sharing uneasy looks as they sipped their teas, each wishing that the other would speak first as they both failed to find the words to express themselves. After realizing her mother wasn't going to speak first Cecila let out a slow sigh as she placed her cup of tea down and ran her fingers through her hair, looking at her cup of tea as she grabbed a spoon and began to twirl it in the light brown liquid.

"Do...you want answers?" she questions despite knowing the answer, her gaze moving from her tea cup to her mother's hand, unable to meet the steady gaze her mother held on her.

"Of course I do but..." She hesitates, sighing as brings her tea up to her lips and takes a sip, thinking long on what she wanted to say. "But I understand why." She slowly says, looking at Cecila.

Surprised Cecila's eyes meets her mothers, searching them as she raises her brow. "You what?" Cecila finds herself confused, she expected a thousand questions, not an 'I understand'. She most defiantly felt guilt for doubting her mother, but she...she had been different when Cecila had left.

"Of all the children I had who I knew would join the cause against that tyrant, you were the first on my mind. You had passion, a fire to you, more so than your brother had." Her mother says softly, a strange expression covering her face. "You were going to end up fighting for the people even if your father didn't...." she pauses, pain flicking in her eyes as she continues. "Even if your father didn't die. You were never meant to be Queen where you?" This time it seems she was talking to herself more than at Cecila. "No, you were born a princess but you formed into a leader of another kind." She muses.

"I don't understand...what do you mean by that?" Cecila frowns.

"Cecila you are not, and I mean no offense by this, Queen Material. You...." She thinks of the correct words to use in this instance, perusing her lips as she clicks her tongue against her teeth. "You never did fit the bill. You wanted to spar with the men instead of learn how to talk to other nobles, to practice hitting a bullseye instead of learning to ball room dance. I knew that someday I'd have to come to terms that your sister would be the one to take the Throne but I had hoped..." she stops, a sad look coming over her face. "While I have no doubts you would've made the best Queen this kingdom has seen in ages....Your title is commander now. I think it was always meant to be that." She sighs, looking at her daughter carefully, scanning over the features she knew so well. From the new scars to the blue eyes that she shared with her late father. Cecila was too much like her father to sit on a throne while people were being slaughtered. If she had become Queen all those years ago...well, she wasn't even sure if Cecila would've stayed for the coronation. Placing her hand on top of Cecila's, she begins to speak once more.

"While I am angry at what you did, hurt even, I don't need you to give me the answers I already have. I knew, I just knew...." Her mother sighs again, something both women were doing a lot this evening, "I realized the answers long before you even had them yourself. And I forgive you for the actions of that night. I just wish you would've at least said goodbye that night. What would've happened if you never made it home?" Guilt twisted in Cecila's stomach once more as she found it hard to look her mother in the eye.

"I am sorry mom." She breathes out, lips trembling as a deep sadness come over her. "I just...wasn't thinking. I was blinded by anger...the need to fight, to stop it from happening to another...stop it from happening it to more innocent people." She looks towards the window, her eyes glazing over at the memories of just how many children have met their fates at Tahls hand. Her hands ball up into fists as she grits her teeth. Even with him dead her anger remains.