Halcyon Days: Fire Emblem Drabbles

『 Tragedy 』

|| AU: Emmeryn actually dies ||

⧽ Chrom and Emmeryn ⧼

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❝ Above all else, you swore to protect the two of us — that's why you made your sacrifice.
You took your life — a leap of faith — in the hopes of a better future;
a peaceful world.
They may have witnessed your fall, but I know the truth:
you've risen to the heavens; you've left the cruel and dirty hell behind.
And I can't help but feel that I — too — am left rotting dead in the dust. ❞

⟵⟷⟶

When I think of you—

I remember lonely smiles and withdrawn sighs;
there were many sleepless nights,
when you thought we couldn't hear you cry.
You had a heavy heart that sang of bygone days;
yet your kindness was a virtue,
that healed all without a trace.

Remembrance.

"Chrom? Can you sleep?"
The room was dark and the candles were out, but he knew his younger sister's voice.
He rolled around, turning to face her.
"What's up, Lissa?"
"It's Emm... she's..."
He sighed.
"Leave her be."
Was that really a good idea?

Your pleasant voice never failed to lower my guard,
and your beauty could only be a gift from the gods above.
I remember the tired songs and ballades that you recited in Father's memory,
as well as the despondent lullaby that you sang to me soon afterwards.

Catharsis.

It was hard to grieve for a man he barely knew.
So many rumors, so many tales...
But when he remembered the raised hand and hardened gaze, his hands crumpled into a fist.
Tears refused to fall.
But within his elder sister's lap, arms warm and loving,
her voice absolving him of his guilt and troubles,
Chrom knew her to be the only mother he would ever have.
The only parent he really ever knew.

Our father as we knew him wasn't a man, nor a fool or a coward —
He was simply a tyrant,
with delusions of grandeur.
I used to ask you,
"What was he like before?"
But you never answered,
leaving me with more questions, and my heart rather sore.

Ambiguity.

After the funeral, Chrom had trouble remembering home, from the times when Ylisse was at peace and Mother was alive.
He could only faintly remember the outline of his father's face, and his mother was an echo of the past now.
"Our poor prince..." he heard a servant whisper.
"Perhaps this is the best way."

I gave into my curiosity,
(I am sorry — I know you would be saddened to hear me say)
and asked my nurses what the recent tyrant king was like.
They responded bitterly,
telling tales upon tales of what he did when I was too young to speak;
how bipolar he was, unable to differentiate war from peace;
but I knew these already, what he had done in the past;
"No no, what was he like to me — to us — my family?"

Hypophora.

He often wondered what was wrong with him.
To be unable to remember his father —
his father of all things —
Chrom's gaze glanced back towards Falchion, gleaming hard in the throne room light.

"Wasn't he the one who taught me the sword?"
"Wasn't he the one who promised me he'd let me become a knight one day?"
"Wasn't he the one who loved us all...
no matter what the historians say?"

Then they were quiet; cast-down eyes and cloudy faces —
"He loved you,
cherished you..."
they whispered,
"... but your sisters..."
They trailed off.
I realized the quiet truth, my unsettling feelings:
Father may have chosen you,
but he always favored me.
Memories of what I thought was our home came flooding back to me;
cold eyes,
your flinches,
and Mother's sad smile.
I remembered that I never had a father to begin with.

Anagnorisis.

"Chrom, look!"
Emmeryn wore a bright summer dress, a white flower pinned to her hair.
"This is your new sister! Say hi!"
The prince marveled at this sight of life; how small and delicate she looked, wrapped in the nurse's arms.
"You were once that small too, Chrom," his mother lightly teased, prodding his shoulder.
"Be a good big brother, okay?"
"...I promise!"

But the Exalt looked to his newborn child with a disgusted look on his face.
"A daughter, again?"
He shook his head.
"Gods..."
He waved his hand, dismissing the nurse.
"B-but your daughter, Sire—!"
"Take that thing away. I don't want to see it."

Mother began to cry.

So I spoke no more of Father,
having realized the sort of man he was.
All my life I'd wondered what sort of life he should have led,
the man he could have become,
the Exalt he would have become,
if he had found it within himself to love his people and his family.
But I see that what might have been is futile,
for when all's said and done,
his body is still lying there, deep in the grave,
beside the countless other lives he'd taken.
But when the future looked so stark,
you were the one who saved us all;
rising Ylisse back from the ruins and bringing peace upon our lands.
It doesn't matter what kind of man Father should have been,
because he was wrong,
and you proved yourself to rule and touch the hearts of more people he ever had or could.

But it's too late now;
my words will fall on deaf ears,
my tears will shed on broken eyes,
and my hand, reaching for yours in assurance, won't be able to reach you, six feet underground.

And I find myself wishing that you were able to live as long as Father had, and been able to die peacefully after leading a long life.
He committed endless atrocities, sending men, women, and children one by one to the grave—
and yet he was still granted a peaceful ending?
The good really do die young.
But I can't help but feel that there wouldn't be any other ending you'd rather have.

Peripeteia.

I love you, Emm.

⟵⟷⟶

Slow updates mean slow updates, unfortunately.