Flame Eyed Strangers in Awakening: OC x Lucina

Beneath the Starlight Watch

The night was unusually still. No breeze rustled the leaves, no distant howls broke the silence—just the occasional pop from the central campfire where Lissa and Roy sat maintaining their vigil while the rest of the Shepherds slept.

Lissa poked at the embers with a stick, sneaking glances at the dark elf beside her. Roy—or Thallion, as he was known among his own people—sat with perfect posture, his keen eyes scanning the perimeter. His deep blue and lavender hair, tipped with crimson at the ends, was pulled back in a half-tie that emphasized his angular features and pointed ears.

"Do you think they'll attack tonight?" Lissa asked, more to break the silence than out of genuine concern.

Roy turned to her, his expression softening. "No. Gangrel is many things, but he's not foolish enough to attack a well-defended position in the dark. Especially not with your brother's forces at full strength."

Lissa nodded, oddly disappointed by his practical answer. "So we're just sitting here for nothing?"

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Not for nothing. Vigilance prevents surprises."

"That sounds like something Frederick would say," she teased.

"Your knight has wisdom, despite his... excessive caution." Roy's comment earned a giggle from Lissa.

They fell back into comfortable silence, though Lissa found herself increasingly aware of the minimal distance between them on the log. Her mind kept drifting back to that moment a few weeks ago—the supply tent, the inventory checklist in her hands, and her spectacular tumble directly into Roy's arms.

She'd been so embarrassed then, her face mere inches from his, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his violet eyes. She'd pulled away quickly, mumbling apologies, her cheeks burning. Roy had been nothing but gracious, of course, helping her restore the scattered supplies without comment, though she'd caught him watching her with an unreadable expression afterward.

"You're quiet tonight," Roy observed, pulling her from her memories.

"Just thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," he replied, the hint of teasing in his voice surprising her. Roy was usually so serious, so formal. These glimpses of humor made her heart beat a little faster.

"It happens occasionally," she retorted with a grin. "I do have thoughts, you know. I'm not just the princess who pulls pranks."

Roy's expression grew more serious. "I've never thought of you as just anything, Lissa."

The sincerity in his voice caught her off-guard. She busied herself adjusting her dress, unsure how to respond.

"We should probably check the eastern perimeter," she suggested, standing abruptly. "I thought I heard something earlier."

Roy rose smoothly, towering over her slight frame. "Lead the way."

They walked in silence along the edge of camp, their path illuminated by moonlight. Lissa was acutely aware of Roy's presence beside her—the measured cadence of his footsteps, the occasional brush of his arm against hers.

"How old are you?" she blurted suddenly, then immediately regretted the question. "I mean... I know elves live longer than humans. I just wondered..."

Roy looked amused. "I'm young by elven standards. Barely a hundred."

"A hundred years old?" Lissa gaped at him.

"One hundred and twelve, to be precise," he said with a slight smile. "Though in human terms, I would be considered about twenty-two."

"Oh," Lissa replied, oddly relieved. "That's not so bad then."

"Not so bad?" His eyebrow arched in question.

"I mean, not so... different." She stumbled over her words. "From me. I'm eighteen."

Something shifted in Roy's expression—a softening around his eyes, perhaps. "Age is measured differently among my people. We count years, but what matters more is experience, wisdom gained."

"And have you? Gained wisdom, I mean."

"Some," he acknowledged. "Though clearly not enough to avoid certain... entanglements."

The word hung between them, loaded with meaning Lissa wasn't sure how to interpret. Before she could ask what he meant, her foot caught on an exposed root, sending her pitching forward.

Roy's reflexes were instantaneous. His arm shot out, catching her around the waist and pulling her against him to steady her. For the second time in recent weeks, Lissa found herself pressed against his chest, looking up into his face.

But unlike last time, she didn't immediately pull away.

Time seemed to stretch as they stood frozen in that position. Roy's arm remained at her waist, strong and steady. His eyes searched hers, no longer unreadable but filled with questions—and something else that made her breath catch.

"We seem to find ourselves in this position with surprising frequency," he murmured, his voice lower than usual.

"Maybe it's not an accident," Lissa whispered before she could stop herself.

Neither moved for a long moment. Then, slowly, Roy began to loosen his hold. "Perhaps we should return to—"

Something shifted in Lissa at that moment—a decision made not by thought but by feeling. Before he could step away, before the rational part of her mind could list all the reasons this was a terrible idea, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was gentle, tentative—a question more than a statement. For one heart-stopping moment, Roy remained perfectly still, and Lissa feared she had catastrophically misread the situation.

Then his arms tightened around her, drawing her closer as he returned the kiss with a tenderness that made her dizzy. One hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his touch reverent as if she were something precious and rare.

When they finally broke apart, Lissa kept her eyes closed for an extra second, afraid of what she might see when she opened them. When she finally looked up, the expression on Roy's face stole her breath—wonder mixed with longing, and underneath it all, a vulnerability she had never seen from him before.

"That was..." Roy began, seemingly at a loss for words—another first.

"Unexpected?" Lissa offered.

"Inevitable," he corrected softly.

The weight of the word settled between them, changing everything. This wasn't a momentary impulse or a mistake to be brushed aside. This was a threshold crossed, a new path opened.

"What happens now?" Lissa asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Roy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "Now we finish our watch," he said with gentle practicality. "And tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?"

His smile reached his eyes, transforming his usually solemn face. "Tomorrow we begin to discover what this means." He gestured between them. "If you wish to."

Lissa nodded, unable to suppress her own smile. "I do wish to."

As they walked back to the campfire, their hands found each other in the darkness, fingers intertwining. The silent camp around them slept on, unaware that in the quiet of the night watch, everything had changed.

Nobility and Nightfall

The night air carried a hint of jasmine as Valvaderhn stood outside Maribelle's tent, their nightly ritual of parting having just concluded. As always, he had escorted her from the war council to her quarters, discussing the day's events and tomorrow's possibilities in the measured, formal tones that had become their custom.

"Well then, Lady Maribelle," Valvaderhn said with a slight bow, his crimson armor catching the moonlight. "I bid you a peaceful night's rest. Should you require anything further, you need only send word."

It was the same phrase he offered every evening, part of the carefully choreographed dance they had established since the dark elven contingent had joined the Shepherds. He, the celebrated Red Knight of Veritha, playing the role of attentive servant to the Ylissean noblewoman who had captured his attention from the moment of their first contentious meeting.

As he turned to leave, something unexpected happened. Maribelle's hand shot out, grasping the fabric of his tunic with surprising strength.

"Wait," she said, her voice missing its usual haughty edge. "Don't go. Not yet."

Valvaderhn stilled, noting the uncharacteristic vulnerability in her usually composed features. Her golden curls were slightly disheveled from the long day, and her eyes held a shadow of something he couldn't quite name—anxiety, perhaps, or a deeper disquiet.

"My lady?" he inquired softly, turning back to face her.

Maribelle released his tunic, smoothing the fabric with an embarrassed gesture before clasping her hands primly before her. "Forgive me for my lack of decorum," she said, her chin lifting slightly as she attempted to regain her usual poise. "I simply... that is to say..."

Valvaderhn waited patiently, allowing her the space to find her words. In their weeks together, he had learned that beneath Maribelle's rigid aristocratic exterior lay a woman of profound feeling—one who rarely allowed those feelings to surface.

"Might I impose upon you to stay a while longer?" she finally managed, her tone formal but her eyes betraying her need for company. "The night seems particularly oppressive with tomorrow's march looming ahead."

The seasoned general studied her face, reading the unspoken concerns. The coming battle against Gangrel's forces weighed heavily on all of them, but especially on those who had witnessed the Exalt's near-sacrifice. For Maribelle, who prided herself on proper conduct and control, to request additional comfort spoke volumes.

"It would be my honor," he replied, his usual formal tone softening. "Perhaps a stroll around the perimeter? The night air may help clear the mind."

Relief flooded her features, though she quickly masked it with a nod of regal approval. "Yes, that would be acceptable. Allow me to retrieve my parasol."

"At this hour, my lady?" Valvaderhn asked, a rare hint of amusement coloring his voice.

Maribelle paused, then let out a small laugh—a sound so genuine it momentarily transformed her face. "Force of habit, I suppose. How terribly silly of me."

"Not at all," he assured her. "Vigilance in maintaining one's standards is never silly."

She stepped from her tent without the parasol, and together they began walking along the edge of camp. The silence between them was comfortable at first, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the night watch changing shifts.

"Your sister seems to have settled well among the healing corps," Maribelle observed after a time.

"Saibyrh has always adapted quickly," Valvaderhn replied. "Though she speaks highly of your organizational systems. It seems you've impressed her with your attention to detail in the medical supplies inventory."

Maribelle's cheeks colored slightly at the praise. "One simply does what is necessary. Proper categorization saves lives in urgent situations."

They continued walking, their path taking them past the slumbering tents of their companions. Near the edge of camp, they paused by a fallen log, and without discussion, sat side by side, looking out at the starlit fields beyond.

"May I speak candidly, Valvaderhn?" Maribelle asked suddenly.

He turned to her, surprised by the use of his name without title or formality. "Always, my lady."

She stared straight ahead, her profile outlined in silver moonlight. "I find myself... unsettled by how quickly circumstances change in wartime. Yesterday, Emmeryn stood as our beacon of peace. Today, we prepare for bloodshed. Yesterday, we were strangers from different realms. Today..." She trailed off, her gloved hands tightening in her lap.

"Today?" he prompted gently.

Maribelle turned to him then, her usual masks of propriety and distance momentarily set aside. "Today I find myself depending on the presence of someone I barely know, yet feel I've known much longer."

The admission hung in the air between them, more intimate than any words they had previously exchanged. Valvaderhn felt something shift in his chest—a warrior's heart responding to a battle of a different kind.

"Time moves differently in uncertain moments," he said quietly. "Days feel like months. Allies become..." He paused, searching for the right word.

"Essential," Maribelle finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Their eyes met, and Valvaderhn saw in hers the same questions that had been circling in his mind during their many conversations, their strategy sessions, their tea times that had grown increasingly frequent. What was this connection that had formed so quickly between them—a noblewoman of Ylisse and a general of the dark elves?

Without conscious thought, he reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on the log between them. She did not pull away.

"In my culture," he said slowly, "we believe that souls recognize each other across lifetimes. Perhaps this is not our first meeting, Lady Maribelle."

She looked down at their joined hands, then back to his face. "I've always considered such notions to be terribly romantic nonsense," she said, but her tone held no dismissal.

"And now?" he asked.

Instead of answering with words, Maribelle did something entirely unexpected. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek—a gesture so gentle and brief it might have been imagined, yet the warmth lingered on his skin.

"Now," she said as she pulled back, her voice steadier than her flushed cheeks would suggest, "I find myself reconsidering many of my previous positions."

Valvaderhn remained perfectly still, aware that this moment was as fragile as it was significant. For a woman of Maribelle's standing and character to make such an overture required both courage and certainty.

Slowly, he raised his hand to her face, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw with reverence. "May I?" he asked, his voice deeper than usual.

Maribelle nodded, a barely perceptible movement.

Valvaderhn leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that began as gentle as her earlier gesture but quickly deepened as Maribelle's hands moved to his shoulders, drawing him closer.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, Maribelle's usual composure was nowhere to be found. In its place was something far more precious—genuine emotion, unfiltered by social convention or aristocratic restraint.

"Well," she said, attempting to regain some semblance of her typical manner, "that was most... illuminating."

Valvaderhn couldn't suppress his smile. "Indeed, my lady."

"I believe," she said, straightening her dress with hands that weren't quite steady, "that after such a development, you might consider calling me Maribelle when we are alone."

"Maribelle," he repeated, savoring the name without its formal title. "And I am simply Valvaderhn to you, always."

She nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "We should return," she said after a moment. "Dawn comes early, and tomorrow brings its challenges."

As they walked back toward her tent, their hands found each other in the darkness, fingers intertwining. Whatever tomorrow might bring, tonight had changed everything between the Red Knight and the noblewoman he served.

At her tent entrance, Valvaderhn bowed once more, but this time when he straightened, Maribelle rose on her tiptoes to place one more gentle kiss upon his lips.

"Until tomorrow," she whispered.

"Until tomorrow," he echoed, "Maribelle."

As he walked away, his measured stride betrayed none of the joy that now filled his warrior's heart. The coming battle with Gangrel might determine the fate of nations, but tonight had determined something equally important—the beginning of a love that neither had sought, yet both had found.

Nobility and Nightfall - Lucina's Struggle

Dawn had barely broken over the camp when Lucina slipped away from the main gathering of tents. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night, her mind too full of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She found herself at the edge of camp, atop a small rise that afforded a view of the surrounding countryside.

The revelation of her identity to her father had gone better than she'd dared hope. Chrom had recognized the Brand of the Exalt in her eye—the same mark he bore—and despite the shock, had embraced her as his daughter from a ruined future. Sarai, too, had welcomed her with tears and wonder, her elven features softening as she studied the daughter she had not yet borne in this timeline.

Lucina's hand drifted unconsciously to her slightly pointed ears—one of several features that marked her mixed heritage. Not quite as pronounced as her mother's elven ears, but unmistakable nonetheless. Along with her father's blue hair and eyes, and the elven grace in her movements, they were physical reminders of the future she fought to prevent.

A future where both her parents had fallen. A future where Odyn, too...

"I thought I might find you here."

Lucina stiffened at the voice, composing herself before turning. Hailfire stood several paces behind her, the mercenary's sharp gaze evaluating.

"Did you need something?" Lucina asked, her tone carefully neutral.

Hailfire moved to stand beside her, looking out over the landscape. "I know what it's like," she said without preamble, "to watch someone walk toward danger while your heart screams at you to stop them."

Lucina's fingers tightened around Falchion's hilt. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" Hailfire's eyebrow arched. "I've seen how you look at Odyn when you think no one is watching. And I've seen how carefully you avoid him at other times."

A flush crept up Lucina's neck. Hailfire had always been too perceptive for comfort. "My personal feelings are irrelevant. The mission—"

"Is to save the future," Hailfire finished for her. "Yes. But you're not just a soldier, Lucina. You're human. Well," she corrected with a small smile, "part-human at least."

Despite herself, Lucina laughed softly. "My heritage has always been... complicated."

"You need to talk about it," Hailfire said firmly. "Whatever is eating you alive when you see him. And not just to me." She gestured back toward camp. "Come. The other women are gathered for breakfast before the final preparations begin. If we're all marching to possible death today, there's no better time for honesty."

Lucina hesitated, but something in Hailfire's steady gaze broke through her resistance. "Very well," she conceded quietly. "But not everything is meant to be shared."

"That's for you to decide," Hailfire replied, already starting back toward camp. "But you might be surprised how understanding your companions can be."

The women of the Shepherds had gathered in a small clearing just outside the main camp. Maribelle sat primly on a fallen log, sipping tea despite the early hour. Sarai—Lucina's not-yet-mother—was in conversation with Cordelia, while Lissa and Sumia arranged provisions for a simple breakfast. Others were scattered around the clearing: Nowi playfully teasing Panne, Tharja lurking at the edges, Olivia braiding Cherche's hair.

They looked up as Hailfire approached with Lucina in tow.

"Good morning," Sumia called cheerfully. "We saved some porridge for you both."

"Thanks," Hailfire replied, guiding Lucina to a seat near the center of the gathering. "But food isn't all we need this morning." She turned to address the group. "Lucina has something she needs to share. Something that might help her sort through some... complicated feelings."

All eyes turned to Lucina, who suddenly felt exposed in a way that battle never made her feel. Fighting was straightforward; emotions were not.

"I..." she began, then faltered.

Sarai moved closer, her elven features so familiar yet younger than Lucina remembered from childhood. "Whatever it is, we're here to listen," she said gently.

Lucina took a deep breath. "It's about Odyn," she said finally.

"The mercenary captain?" Cordelia asked. "The one with the lightning blade?"

Lucina nodded. "In my future, he was..." She searched for the right words. "He was important to me. Very important."

"You knew him in your timeline?" Lissa leaned forward, curious.

"Yes. He was one of my father's most trusted generals," Lucina explained, finding it easier to start with facts. "When I was a child, he would visit the castle often. He taught me my first sword forms, though Father didn't approve at first—I was only six."

She smiled faintly at the memory, then continued, her voice growing more serious. "When Grima returned and everything fell to ruin, Odyn led one of the last remaining human-elven battalions. He protected our retreat more times than I can count."

"So he was a mentor to you," Maribelle observed, setting down her teacup.

Lucina hesitated. "At first, yes. But later..." She looked down at her hands. "I was fifteen when things changed between us. He was thirty by then. He started looking at me differently, and I realized I had feelings for him that went beyond admiration for a teacher."

A quiet tension fell over the group. Sarai, especially, watched her future daughter with a complex expression.

"Nothing happened," Lucina clarified quickly. "He was too honorable for that. But there was... an understanding between us. That when the war allowed, when I was older, perhaps..."

Her voice caught, and she had to pause before continuing.

"He died three months later. A Risen ambush. He held them off while the rest of us escaped. I wasn't even there—I was leading another group to safety." Her hands clenched into fists. "The last thing he said to me was 'Until we meet again, Princess.' And then he was gone."

Tears gathered in Lucina's eyes, but she blinked them back with practiced determination.

"And now here he is," she continued, her voice steadier. "But he's not my Odyn. He's younger, unburdened by the horrors I witnessed. He doesn't know me at all. And tomorrow we march into battle, and all I can think is that I can't lose him again—I can't stand by while history repeats itself."

Silence followed her words. Then Tharja, of all people, spoke from the shadows. "You fear your feelings will compromise the mission."

"Yes," Lucina admitted. "If he falls in battle because I made the wrong choice—because I was distracted by personal feelings—"

"That's nonsense," Hailfire interrupted firmly. "Your feelings aren't a weakness, Lucina. They're why you're fighting so hard in the first place."

"Hailfire is right," Cordelia added. "We all fight better when we have someone to protect."

"But what if—" Lucina began.

"What if nothing," Nowi chimed in, bouncing to her feet. "You can't not tell him just because you're scared!"

"It's not that simple," Lucina protested.

"Actually," Olivia said softly, surprising everyone with her interjection, "it is that simple. And that terrifying." She blushed as attention turned to her, but continued, "If you don't tell him how you feel, you'll always wonder. Especially if the worst happens."

Sarai moved to sit beside Lucina, taking her daughter's hand in hers. The gesture felt surreal—her mother's hand was younger than her own, untouched by the future's hardships.

"I cannot imagine what you've endured," Sarai said, her elven accent lilting her words. "To lose everyone you loved, to travel back to find us all as strangers... it would break many warriors. But you are stronger than that." She squeezed Lucina's hand. "Strong enough to fight fate. Strong enough to risk your heart."

"But what do I even say to him?" Lucina asked, vulnerability creeping into her voice. "He doesn't know me. He hasn't lived through what shaped us in my time."

"You tell him the truth," Cherche said simply. "Or as much of it as you can bear to share."

"And if he doesn't feel the same?" The question was barely audible.

"Then at least you'll know," Maribelle stated pragmatically. "Rather than torturing yourself with possibilities."

Lucina looked around at the circle of women—some she had known since childhood in a different timeline, some who had died before she could truly know them, all looking at her with understanding rather than judgment.

"You should go to him now," Hailfire urged. "Before the final war council. Before we march. Moments like these are precious in wartime."

Lucina stood, surprising herself with the decision. "Thank you," she said, her gaze encompassing all of them. "For listening. For understanding."

"That's what family does," Lissa said with a bright smile. "And we are family, even across timelines."

As Lucina turned to leave, Sarai caught her hand once more. "Lucina," she said softly, "whatever happens with Odyn, know that your father and I are proud of the woman you've become. Even though we haven't raised you yet."

The words struck Lucina's heart with unexpected force. She squeezed her mother's hand, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in her throat, then departed with renewed purpose.

Odyn was where she expected to find him—at the training grounds, practicing forms with his distinctive lightning-infused blade. Though younger than the man she had known, his movements were already familiar, each swing precise and controlled. His dark hair was tied back from his face, revealing the angular features that spoke of distant elven ancestry, though less pronounced than her own.

He sensed her presence almost immediately, lowering his blade and turning toward her. "Princess," he greeted her with a respectful nod. Like the others, he had quickly adjusted to the knowledge of her identity after Chrom's announcement.

"Odyn," she replied, stepping into the clearing. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," he assured her, sheathing his sword. "Did you need something?"

Now that she stood before him, Lucina found all her carefully considered words abandoning her. This was Odyn, yet not Odyn—the same face that had featured in her most treasured memories and most painful nightmares, yet unmarked by the years of war she had witnessed.

"I..." she began, then faltered. Taking a deep breath, she started again. "I wanted to speak with you before the battle."

Odyn studied her with curious intensity. "You've been avoiding me," he observed, surprising her. "Since you revealed your identity to Lord Chrom."

Lucina felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You noticed."

"It was hard not to," he replied. A faint smile touched his lips. "I thought perhaps I had offended you somehow."

"No," she said quickly. "Nothing like that."

An awkward silence fell between them. Odyn waited patiently, giving her space to find her words.

"In my future," she finally said, "we knew each other well."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Ah. I survived long enough to see you grow up, then."

"Yes." She stepped closer, drawn to him despite her reservations. "You were one of my father's most trusted generals. And my teacher, for a time."

Odyn nodded thoughtfully. "I'm honored to know I served the Exalt's line faithfully in that timeline." He hesitated, then asked, "Did I fall in battle, then? Is that why this is difficult for you?"

Lucina's breath caught. Even now, he read her too well. "Yes," she admitted. "But it's more complicated than that."

She turned away slightly, gathering her courage. "Before you fell, things between us had... changed. We had come to care for each other as more than comrades or even friends. Nothing came of it—there was no time, and we both had our duties. But there was an understanding between us. A promise for after the war, if we both survived."

Odyn was silent for a long moment. When Lucina finally turned back to face him, his expression was unreadable.

"I see," he said at last. "And now you find it painful to look at me, knowing what might have been. What was lost."

"Yes," Lucina whispered. "But there's more." She forced herself to meet his gaze directly. "I'm afraid, Odyn. Afraid that in trying to change the future, I'll still lose you. That you'll fall in this battle or the next, and I'll have to watch it happen all over again."

Understanding filled his eyes, followed by something softer. "And you've been keeping your distance to protect yourself from that pain."

"To protect the mission," she corrected, though they both heard the half-truth in her words.

Odyn stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Lucina," he said, her name gentle on his lips. "I cannot promise I won't fall tomorrow. No warrior can make that vow in good conscience."

"I know," she said, her voice barely audible.

"But I can promise you this," he continued, carefully taking her hand in his. "I will fight with everything I have to see the dawn after this battle. Not just for the cause, or for Ylisse, but for the chance to know the woman who crossed time itself to save her people." His thumb traced a small circle on the back of her hand. "For the chance to discover if what grew between us in one timeline might grow again in this one."

Lucina felt tears threatening again, but for once did not fight them. "You don't think it strange?" she asked. "That I know a different version of you? That I harbor feelings for a man you haven't yet become?"

Odyn smiled, the expression transforming his serious features. "Time is a strange thing, Princess. But the core of who we are remains consistent, I think. If that other Odyn came to care for you, then perhaps this one is already halfway there without realizing it."

Before she could respond, he reached up to gently brush a tear from her cheek. "I've admired your strength and conviction since you joined us as 'Marth,'" he admitted. "Learning your true identity only deepened that admiration. And now, knowing you carry this additional burden..." He shook his head slightly. "You are remarkable, Lucina."

She caught his hand against her cheek, holding it there for a moment as she gathered her courage once more. "When we march today," she said, "fight at my side. Not because I need protection, but because I need to know you're there. That you're alive."

"It would be my honor," he replied solemnly. Then, with a hint of his future self's teasing manner, he added, "Though I suspect I'll be the one struggling to keep pace with you."

Lucina laughed softly, the sound surprising them both. "The future Odyn said something similar once, after I bested him in a sparring match."

"Did he?" Odyn raised an eyebrow. "Then I shall have to train harder to avoid such embarrassment in this timeline."

The war horns sounded in the distance, calling them to the final council before the march. Reality intruded on their moment of connection, but the weight that had pressed on Lucina's heart for weeks felt lighter now.

"We should go," she said reluctantly, lowering his hand but keeping hold of it.

Odyn nodded, but before they left the clearing, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Until after the battle, Princess."

"Until then," she agreed, the echo of her lost Odyn's final words to her transformed from a painful memory to a promise of possibility.

Together, they walked back toward camp, toward war and uncertainty, but for the first time since arriving in this timeline, Lucina allowed herself to hope for more than just survival. For a future where history didn't simply change, but changed for the better—for all of them.

Nobility and Nightfall - Lucina's Arrangement

The camp hummed with the sounds of final preparations. Soldiers checked weapons, healers organized supplies, and commanders reviewed positions one last time before the march to confront Gangrel. Yet amid the controlled chaos, Lucina found a strange pocket of calm as she walked alongside Odyn toward the rallying point.

"Your father has assigned me to the eastern flank," Odyn mentioned, adjusting the lightning-embossed bracers that channeled his unique combat magic. "Alongside Frederick's knights."

Lucina nodded, her thoughts briefly tactical. "A sound position. The terrain there favors mounted units, but they'll need support against Plegian mages."

"Which is where I come in," Odyn said with a slight smile. "My lightning counters their wind magic rather effectively."

They paused at a crossroads in the camp, where they would soon need to part ways to join their respective units. Around them, the Shepherds and their allied forces moved with purpose, yet this moment between them felt suspended, precious.

"Odyn," Lucina said suddenly, her voice low but determined. "I need to ask something of you."

He turned to her fully, his expression open. "Anything."

"Survive," she said simply. Then, with more hesitation, "And when this is over—when Gangrel is defeated and Ylisse is safe—I want... I would like for us to talk. Properly."

"About the future?" he asked, understanding her meaning immediately.

"About many things," she admitted. "There's more you should know. About why I came back. About what I saw." She took a breath. "About us."

Odyn studied her face, seeming to recognize the weight behind her words. "There's more to your story than saving your father and preventing Emmeryn's sacrifice."

It wasn't quite a question, but Lucina nodded anyway. "Yes. Things I haven't told anyone—not even Father." Her fingers brushed Falchion's hilt unconsciously. "Things about... Robin. About what becomes of him."

Odyn's expression became more serious. "I've noticed how you watch him. With caution, even suspicion."

"I can't explain now," Lucina said, glancing around to ensure they weren't overheard. "It wouldn't be fair before a battle, to burden anyone with such knowledge. But afterward..." She met his gaze directly. "Afterward, I'll tell you everything. And then we can decide—together—what this connection between us might mean."

The word "connection" felt inadequate for what was growing between them—something that, for her, was built on the foundation of a relationship from another timeline yet was becoming something new and distinctly its own. Something that made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with battle and everything to do with the way he looked at her, as he was looking at her now.

"I'd like that," Odyn said softly. Then, with a hint of wryness, "Though I confess I'm already forming my own conclusions about what this connection might mean."

Lucina felt heat rise to her cheeks. Despite everything—the war, the looming battle, the weight of futures past and yet to come—she found herself responding to his gentle teasing in a way that felt startlingly normal.

"Are you now?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Indeed." Odyn stepped closer, his voice dropping. "I find myself thinking of you at the most inopportune moments. During tactical meetings. While training. Even in my dreams." He shook his head slightly. "It's most distracting."

"I'm... sorry?" Lucina offered, though her tone suggested she was anything but.

Odyn laughed softly. "Don't be. It's the most welcome distraction I've known." His expression sobered. "Whatever you need to tell me about the future—about Robin, about anything—it won't change this feeling. I'm certain of that."

Lucina wanted to believe him, but doubt crept in. Would he still look at her with such warmth once he knew the full truth? That Robin—their trusted tactician, his friend—bore the Felldragon's mark? That in Lucina's future, Robin had become the vessel for Grima himself, betraying them all? That one of Lucina's purposes in returning was to prevent that possession, by any means necessary?

And beyond that, the personal truth she hadn't fully admitted even to herself: that in her own timeline, losing Odyn had broken something inside her. That the feeling had been deep enough, profound enough, to follow her across time.

"I hope you're right," was all she said aloud.

A horn sounded—the final call to positions. Their time was up.

"It's an arrangement, then," Odyn said, reaching for her hand. "We both survive this battle. And after, we talk—about everything."

Lucina clasped his hand firmly. "An arrangement," she agreed.

For a moment, she thought he might kiss her—saw the consideration flicker in his eyes—but instead, he brought her hand to his heart in an old Ylissean gesture of fealty.

"Until then, Princess."

"Until then," she echoed, reluctantly releasing his hand.

They parted ways, each moving to their assigned positions. But as Lucina joined her father's unit, she felt a sense of certainty she hadn't experienced since arriving in this timeline. She would protect him, she would stop Grima, and—against what once seemed impossible odds—she would allow herself this chance at happiness with Odyn.

If he still wanted her after learning the full truth.

The battle against Gangrel's forces raged across the plains, thunder magic crackling through rain-heavy skies that matched the mood of the desperate conflict. Lucina fought at her father's side, Falchion singing through the air as they pushed toward the Mad King himself.

Across the battlefield, she caught occasional glimpses of Odyn, his distinctive lightning strikes illuminating the eastern flank. Each flash reassured her—he was still fighting, still alive.

"Lucina!" Chrom called, deflecting a blow meant for her. "Focus!"

She snapped back to attention, dispatching the Plegian soldier who had nearly taken advantage of her momentary distraction. "Sorry, Father."

Chrom nodded, understanding in his eyes. He had noticed her glances toward the eastern flank, had perhaps even guessed their meaning. "He's a skilled fighter," was all he said before turning back to the battle.

They pressed forward, cutting through Gangrel's elite guard. The Mad King himself awaited them, his twisted Levin Sword crackling with malevolent energy.

"Come, princeling!" Gangrel called, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Come and meet your sister's fate!"

Chrom's expression hardened. "For Emmeryn," he said quietly, before charging forward.

Lucina moved to follow, but a sudden commotion from the eastern flank caught her attention. A massive surge of dark magic erupted, and she saw Plegian dark mages focusing their attack on a single point—where Odyn stood defending a group of wounded Ylissean soldiers.

Her heart stopped.

Without thinking, Lucina changed course, cutting through enemy lines with desperate speed. "Hold on," she whispered, though he was too far to hear. "Hold on, Odyn."

She was still too far away when she saw him fall to one knee, lightning magic flickering around him as he struggled to maintain his defensive barrier against the onslaught. The dark mages closed in, sensing victory.

"No!" Lucina shouted, pushing herself faster despite the burning in her lungs. "Not again! I won't lose you again!"

Through the chaos, somehow, Odyn seemed to hear her. His head turned, finding her across the battlefield. Their eyes met for one endless moment.

Then he smiled—that same confident smile she remembered from another lifetime—and rose to his feet. Lightning erupted not just from his blade but from his entire body, a storm of pure electrical fury that engulfed the attacking mages. The discharge was blinding, forcing Lucina to shield her eyes.

When the light faded, Odyn stood alone amid fallen enemies, his armor smoking, his body trembling with exertion—but alive.

Relief flooded through Lucina so intensely she nearly stumbled. She changed course again, returning to her father's side just as he engaged Gangrel directly.

The final confrontation was brutal but brief. Chrom, driven by grief for Emmeryn and determination to end the war, fought with unmatched ferocity. When Gangrel fell, his mad laughter dying on his lips, a strange hush fell over the battlefield.

Then, slowly, the cheers began. Ylissean and Feroxi soldiers raised their weapons in victory, the sound swelling across the plains. The war was over.

Lucina found herself standing still amid the celebration, scanning the battlefield for one figure in particular. When she spotted Odyn, being tended to by Lissa for what appeared to be minor burns, the last of her tension eased.

Their arrangement held. They had both survived.

And now, the harder part would begin.

Three days after the battle, the Shepherds had returned to Ylisstol. The capital city burst with celebration—banners hung from windows, citizens danced in the streets, and songs of victory filled taverns and homes alike. The official victory feast would be held in a fortnight, when the last of the troops returned from securing the border, but tonight a smaller celebration had been organized for the Shepherds themselves.

Lucina had excused herself early, finding the revelry at once wonderful and overwhelming. To see these people—many of whom she had watched die in her own timeline—laughing and celebrating, full of hope for the future... it filled her with both joy and a peculiar kind of grief.

She stood on a balcony overlooking the royal gardens, watching stars emerge in the darkening sky, when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I thought I might find you here," Odyn said, joining her at the railing. His injuries from the battle were nearly healed, though faint scars marked his forearms where the lightning had burned hottest.

"You recovered quickly," she observed.

"Elven heritage has its benefits," he replied with a small smile. "Distant though it may be in my case."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of celebration drifting up from the great hall below.

"You left early," Odyn finally said. "Was it too much?"

Lucina appreciated his perception. "In a way. It's... strange. To see everyone so happy, knowing what could still come." She turned to face him fully. "Which brings us to our arrangement."

Odyn nodded, his expression growing more serious. "I'm ready to hear what you couldn't tell me before the battle."

Lucina took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. This moment—what she was about to reveal—could change everything between them. Could change the course of this timeline itself.

"What I'm about to tell you, I haven't shared with anyone else," she began. "Not Father, not Mother. No one."

"I understand," Odyn assured her.

"In my future," Lucina continued, her voice lower now, "the war with Plegia was only the beginning. A far greater threat emerged—Grima, the Felldragon."

Odyn's brow furrowed. "The ancient enemy from the legends?"

"Yes. But not just a legend." Lucina's hands tightened on the balcony railing. "Grima returned, and with him came destruction beyond imagining. Cities burned. Nations fell. The dead rose to serve him." Her voice caught slightly. "Including many who fall here today."

"Including me," Odyn said quietly.

Lucina nodded, forcing herself to continue. "But Grima's return didn't happen by chance. He needed a vessel—someone of specific bloodline, marked to be his human host." She met Odyn's gaze directly. "That vessel was Robin."

Odyn stared at her, shock evident in his features. "Robin? Our tactician? But he's—"

"Loyal? Dedicated? Yes, he is," Lucina agreed. "In this timeline, at this moment. But the Robin I knew—the one from my future—he had no choice. Grima possessed him, used his intimate knowledge of our forces, our strategies, our weaknesses. With Robin's tactical mind and Grima's power..."

"Gods," Odyn breathed, understanding dawning. "That's why you watch him so carefully."

"Yes. I came back to prevent three things: my father's death, your death, and Robin's possession." Lucina turned away, looking out over the darkened gardens. "But I haven't told anyone about the third. How could I? Robin is Father's closest friend, the Shepherds' trusted tactician. To suggest he might become the vessel for mankind's destruction..."

"It would destroy the trust that makes the Shepherds effective," Odyn finished for her. "And without evidence..."

"Exactly." Lucina sighed. "So I've watched. Waited. Tried to determine if this Robin will follow the same path as the one I knew."

"And has he shown any signs?" Odyn asked carefully.

"No. If anything, he seems even more dedicated to Father and our cause than the Robin of my memories." Lucina shook her head slightly. "But the mark is there—on his hand. The mark of Grima. He conceals it, perhaps without even realizing its significance, but I've seen it."

Odyn was silent for a long moment, processing this revelation. "What will you do?" he finally asked.

It was the question Lucina had been asking herself for months. "I don't know," she admitted. "In my darkest moments, I've considered... eliminating the threat before it can manifest." She couldn't bring herself to say the words more directly. "But I look at him—at who he is now—and I can't. I won't become a murderer on the chance of what might happen."

"There must be another way," Odyn said firmly. "A way to prevent the possession without harming Robin."

"I hope so." Lucina turned back to him, vulnerability clear in her expression. "That's why I'm telling you. I need... help. Someone to share this burden who isn't blinded by familial loyalty as Father would be."

"Someone who understands what she meant to you in another life," Odyn added softly.

"Yes." Lucina swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue to the most difficult part. "But there's more you should know. About us—about you and me, in that future."

Odyn waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts.

"I told you we had developed feelings for each other," she continued carefully. "What I didn't explain was how deeply your death affected me. When you fell defending that pass..." She closed her eyes briefly against the memory. "Something in me broke, Odyn. I became harder. Colder. Focused solely on survival and vengeance."

She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently.

"The other Shepherds noticed," she continued. "They said I became reckless in battle after you died. They weren't wrong. Part of me didn't care if I lived or died, as long as I took as many of Grima's forces with me as possible."

"Lucina..." Odyn began, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"You need to understand. When I came back, my purpose was to save my father and prevent Grima's return. But when I saw you—alive, whole—something else awoke in me. A hope I thought I'd buried alongside you in that ruined future." Her voice softened. "And that terrifies me."

"Because you fear it will distract you from your mission," Odyn surmised.

"Yes. And because I fear losing you again." Lucina finally voiced the fear that had haunted her since recognizing him among the Shepherds. "I'm not sure I would survive it a second time."

The confession hung in the air between them, more vulnerable than anything she had shared before. She had revealed not just the threat to the world, but the threat to her own heart.

Odyn stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Lucina," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I cannot promise I won't fall in battles to come. No one can make that promise in times of war."

"I know," she whispered.

"But I can promise you this," he continued, carefully taking her hands in his. "I will fight with every ounce of my strength—not just for Ylisse or your father or even myself, but for the future we might build together. A future different from the one you fled."

He released one of her hands to gently trace the line of her jaw. "And I promise that whatever comes with Robin, with Grima, with any threat—you will not face it alone. Not anymore."

Lucina leaned into his touch, allowing herself to accept the comfort he offered. "I've been alone with this knowledge for so long," she admitted. "Carrying it across time itself."

"No longer," Odyn said simply.

Then, with careful deliberation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, questioning—giving her every opportunity to pull away. Instead, Lucina moved closer, her free hand finding his shoulder as she returned the kiss with quiet intensity.

When they finally separated, both slightly breathless, Odyn rested his forehead against hers. "I may not be the man you knew," he said softly. "But I would like the chance to be someone worthy of what you feel for him—for me."

"You already are," Lucina whispered.

For the first time since arriving in this timeline, she allowed herself to fully embrace the possibility that the future was not fixed—that she could save her father, prevent Grima's return, and perhaps find happiness with the man before her. It was a dangerous hope, but standing there in the starlight, it felt worth the risk.

Their arrangement had evolved into something far more profound: a partnership, a shared burden, and the tender beginnings of a love that had somehow transcended time itself.

To be continued in Chapter 13: The Fall of Gangrel; Path to the Future!