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The servant-girl wore her eyes wide, alert-- Leo noticed that first.
He noticed it before he realized that, yes, she was indeed clad in the dress of a maid, and yes, she had indeed been called to private audience with the Nohrian Royal Council. His itinerary notes did not give her a name, merely a "representative of the Ice Tribe," and for the life of him, he could not remember it, however familiar she seemed. Perhaps she had been a passing envoy once or twice, and they had never been introduced. Perhaps he had asked her to bring his coffee-pot back down to the kitchens.
Still, there was just the echo of something familiar...
"Felicia of the Ice Tribe," hissed King Garon.
Leo's thoughts immediately jumped to that is not Felicia.
Leo, from his occasional visits to the Northern Fortress, remembered Felicia. He most certainly recalled having hot tea spilled all over his lap, at the very least. Felicia was clumsy, almost too-friendly, had none of the poise held by the serving-girl in front of them. Felicia, he thought darkly, was also a traitor. And no traitor would ever dare to venture this far into the heart of Nohr.
The maid bowed before them, her knees trembling ever-so-slightly, "King Garon, my sister Felicia... has deserted Nohr and its territories. I am her next of kin. Flora of the Ice Tribe."
"Flora," Garon corrected himself acridly, "Of the Ice Tribe."
Something clicked in Leo's mind as he connected the name to the face. He knew now he'd seen her at the Northern Fortress, somehow perpetually in the background. Neither looming, as Jakob was wont to do, nor awkwardly sprawling as Felicia did. Dusting, his mind supplied helpfully. Apologizing on her sister's behalf every now and then.
Iago stepped in fluidly-- his motions, thought Leo, must be eased by his incredible sliminess-- before he directed her with a slow smile, "We regrettably inform you that you will be required to step into a role of leadership sooner rather than later."
"Pardon?" and Flora's eyes-- wide, impossibly wide-- still widened yet further. "My Father..."
"Don't you fret," and Iago's smile snaked across his lips ever-further. "He's not dead. Well... yet. Hans, bring in the prisoner!"
Hans laughed wildly, even maniacally as he stepped into an adjoining chamber. The man he brought out, Leo recognized. He'd met Chief Kilma once before, at a diplomacy summit years ago. The proud sorcerer he'd been back then, and the gaunt shadow he drew now, in the hold of two guards... the two images were barely reconcilable, but reconcilable yet.
"Chief Kilma," simpered Iago, "Has been tried and convicted of high treason in Nohrian court for mutinous plotting. And Nohrian law is quite blunt on the subject of traitors, as I'm sure you're aware."
And Leo realized, with no small horror, that the axe Hans carried was no mere show of power, but an executioner's axe.
"No," whispered Flora, barely a breath, only audible as the rest of the court went utterly silent.
"Flora?" Kilma's voice cracked out, and that was when the last of his pride seemed to melt into despair. "Flora? Where is your sister?"
"Silence, fool," Iago kicked his side with a pointed boot. "Your last words will come soon enough."
"Father!" exclaimed Flora, a maelstrom of something in her wide, wide eyes. Leo could only pick out betrayal from that dangerous vortex-- he would be a fool to miss it now, when it was betrayal that Elise wore on her sleeves, betrayal that nested its way into Camilla's bosom, betrayal that knotted the crease of Xander's brow.
And it was betrayal that haunted Leo's own eyes each time he looked in the mirror, betrayal that he wore like a cloak.
Hans shoved the chief to the floor, axe looming over his head, "Any last words?"
"You weren't ready for this," and Kilma met the betrayed eyes of his daughter. "It should have been Felicia here. You weren't ready for any of this, Flora... I'm..."
"Sorry?" breathed Flora, completing the sentence with half a hope.
Kilma did not confirm or deny it, and only spoke again, "The ice tribe's future is in your hands. Do not disappoint me."
The axe fell, and no matter how much Leo told himself that he owed Kilma the honor of at least watching, Leo could not help but clench his eyes shut. There could be no honor in the execution of a man, weakened and unarmed, before his daughter.
Hans was no Corrin, sheltered and inexperienced, with enough conscience left in his bones to give pause, even half a second, for Leo to magick the prisoners to safety.
There was a choking noise, barely audible over the dull thud of axe-through-flesh-to-stone, and Leo's eyes opened only in time to see Kilma's head roll across the floor, only stopping when it hit Flora's feet. Her mouth, open in a silent cry. Those eyes, so wide, wore horror like they had been created for it.
Maids dressed in Flora's same uniform hurried in to mop up the mess of blood on the floor. To change the rushes, and cleanse away the smell of iron and flesh. They gave Hans a wide berth as they scrubbed the tiles; somebody tucked the head at Flora's feet into a trash bin.
"Flora of the Ice Tribe," Garon sneered, almost too-stately in the wake of witnessing an execution. "Or, more accurately, Chieftain Flora of the Ice Tribe. Your first order of business, as the new leader of one of Nohr's tertiary territories, will be negotiating a new military settlement with Nohr."
Flora swallowed and her eyes narrowed sharply, "And... which military settlement would that be?"
"Prince-General Xander, explain the details," Garon directed a stern look towards his eldest son.
Leo watched his brother, more like their father than ever now, rise from the seat beside him and begin to speak.
"We received reports of an Ice Tribe rebellion purposefully sabotaging Nohrian troops on the march to Hoshido," Xander recited. "These troops, as well as the following advance, now have the village surrounded, in case tribe members remain hostile. We will not hesitate to declare an attack, should further dissent occur. That is all."
"Sit," the King nodded, his expression unmoved. It was not outright disapproval, Leo thought. That was about the best anyone could get from him, as of late. "It is only through our mercy that your tribesmen continue to live, Chieftain Flora. Normally, rebels are crushed at the heel, one and all. And any family or neighbors they may have... contaminated... with their traitorous ideas."
"No!" Flora gasped, and Leo silently cursed her for showing her hand so soon. "There are children--"
"If I may," Leo cut across her abruptly, before she gave away any more leverage that could be used against her. Used against her whole tribe. "I believe that, as Chief Tactician, I am best suited to explain the rationale."
"Proceed," grunted Garon, a note of disapproval flickering across his face.
"We will not immediately terminate anyone," Leo blurted out, internally cringing as he realized there were still maids rinsing the floor of blood. He rectified himself, "Anyone else. Given the unique strategic placement of your village, in addition to the ice-powers possessed by certain members of your tribe, it would be far more valuable for both of us if you re-declared your loyalty to Nohr and joined your forces with our troops."
His face, he had to school into a neutral expression-- Father was watching, and Iago-- but he implored her with the burn of his eyes to accept. There was no honor in razing down a mostly-peaceful village with an entire population perhaps a third of the size of their marching army.
"You've forgotten something," Garon added testily. His fingers flexed against the table: itching, impatient.
Leo swallowed, bit back a flinch, "Your people will be permitted to remain in your village, as we predict that more likely than not, the Hoshidan forces lead by General Corrin will pause there for repose... lead by their Chief Tactician. You would be preparing for an ambush."
Much to his relief, Flora was at least able to make the next connection silently. He had no idea what ammunition she would have given Father if she'd come to the realization out loud that it was Felicia, her sister, who was Chief Tactician of the Nohrian army. Xander gave him a silent, barely-there inkling of a nod, just the subtlest show of approval.
Neither of them had any love for traitors, but they had even less love for the Hoshidans.
(And all of them, Xander and Leo in the council, Camilla and Elise holed up in their rooms, still yet tried to bury their love of the Hoshidan traitor they once called family.)
"I cannot agree to that," Flora replied at last, and Leo wondered briefly if anyone who'd lived in the Northern Fortress knew what a lie was.
Garon snapped his fingers, a scroll already in his other hand, "Get a page! Dispatch these orders to destroy the mutinous Ice Tribe."
"W-wait!" Flora declared, hand reaching as if she could pluck the missive from his grasp from fifteen feet away. "I meant only that I must consult with the Ice Tribe's own council, before making such a large decision."
"Rather difficult to do," Iago grinned greasily, "When the council will be dead before you can arrive."
"Make your decision," Garon boomed, the sheer volume of his voice forcing Flora to draw her hand from the air. "Chieftain Flora."
"I-- I--" Flora's tongue couldn't find the words as her eyes darted widely through the room, Hans' still-bloody axe, Iago's simpering grin, the furious expression on King Garon's face and the complete lack of one on Prince Xander's, her father's wasted body being dragged away by maids, still bleeding from a stump neck.
But then she found Leo's eyes, wide like a child's, pleading for her to say... to say what?
Say yes, Leo willed himself to speak through his eyes if through nothing else.
And Flora-- Flora could see no bloodthirst in those eyes, and she had known in her heart that, even if it meant pledging her people to another lifetime of servitude, even if it meant fighting against her own sister, her first responsibility was to prevent her people from dying.
"Yes," said Flora, even as her knees trembled. "I will join you."
"Then you will return to your village immediately," answered Garon, tearing the marching order in eighths. A maid helpfully held up a trash bin for him, and the papers fluttered over the head inside, soaking with blood to the point of illegibility. "And begin preparing the ambush. Chief Tactician Leo will assist you before completing his own assignment."
"Yes, Father," answered Leo as he slowly, with well-concealed relief, sank into his chair.
The youngest prince kept his mouth tightly-drawn, almost perpetually sour-- Flora had noticed it then, and she noticed it again now.
His visits to the Northern Fortress had been sparse, as of recent years, but there used to be a time where he would visit nearly every day. Perhaps she remembered his frown in particular, because the Nohrian princes had both seemed so very stern and very unapproachable when she was younger, even though Lord Leo was two years younger and nearly a head shorter than she at the time they met.
It seemed to stick out to her now, as he frowned over a slim scroll, held in his hand as he filled in careful calculations.
"It's fortunate I've visited your village before," he mentioned cautiously, finishing the last numbers needed for the incantation. "This will be easier if we both have a clear picture of where we want to go."
"Lord Leo... if you don't mind my asking," she began, watching the sky as it began to darken from a cloudy-afternoon gray to the orange-gray of dusk. "That spell is meant for transportation?"
"Yes," answered Leo shortly, frowning at the question and all its inanity. "It's a spell of my own invention. It doesn't work well with larger numbers... army-sized numbers, for example... but it will suffice to deliver us to the Ice Tribe village."
"I hope..." Flora began, her voice almost-wistful, heavy with the burden of her responsibility. "I hope they will understand."
"They must," and when Leo furrowed his brow like that, he looked more like his eldest brother than ever. With a twinge of something apologetic, "They must."
He cast, and with a flash of a blinding light that burned Flora's eyes, she felt the air around her drop to freezing, felt the grass beneath her boots fade into the crunch of snow. By the time her vision returned, Leo was already ordering the two men that had gathered beside him, his lips twisted into a snarl.
"I said, the Ice Tribe has reaffirmed its loyalty," he slowly repeated, carefully measuring out each ounce of his patience between words. "Your orders, from the King of Nohr himself, are to stand down and assist members of the Ice Tribe in preparing an ambush. I am escorting their leader to parley with their council."
"Let us send and escort for you, Lord Leo," the more menacing of the two men narrowed his one good eye, the other one concealed beneath an eyepatch. "I don't trust them not to strike, even when you act in good will."
"My blood aches, the prophecy of treachery sings in my veins!" the other cried, his hand reaching outward as it trembled. "They will strike at you, milord, this I have seen!"
"Niles... Odin..." Leo directed them both with a scowl, and produced a missive from his bag. "You will be delivering this to Nohr's lieutenants. Their orders are listed, directly, and with no question. Inform them that any dissenters can return to the capitol with my next transportation scroll and speak to King Garon themselves. I can handle myself-- I have Brynhildr. I will be fine."
"If you insist... milord," Niles, the first man, cringed.
"Stay on alert, milord," Odin answered, practically pleading. "The Chosen One's gut feelings are rarely wrong."
"Tch," Leo scoffed, turning away from both of them. He addressed Flora with a cordial politeness, "Have you recovered from the transportation scroll yet?"
"Pardon, milord?" Flora blinked the last bits of flashing lights out of her eyes. "Yes, I'm all right... we can walk now, if you wish."
Leo nodded, "Good. That's... good. That building on the edge of the forest... is that still the village's meeting chamber?"
"Yes," answered Flora, nostalgia dripping into her spine like the winter cold. "It is."
Leo took a step in that direction and then another, and Flora fell into a quiet stride beside him.
That was the home, she thought, of the grandmotherly woman who had taught her how to mend clothes. And there, the midwife's home... the place where all Ice Tribe children were born, and how many more of them, she wondered, had joined their number since she'd been stolen away? That was the pond, she thought as they passed by, that she'd taught Felicia to ice-skate upon. The same pond Felicia had fallen into, months later, when the ice thinned as much as it ever did in the summers, and oh, how her father had scolded her for not keeping a better eye on her sister...
And oh, he had scolded her, for she was the elder and her sister was her responsibility, and how could she have let her skate upon ice so thin? And now, thought Flora, the tribe was her responsibility, and she had dragged them from the thin ice but at what cost? Capitulating to Nohr's demands? Destroying that very same sister, the one who had laughed as her teeth chattered and Flora drew her a warm bath?
How, thought Flora, could she destroy that which she'd protected all her life? The presence that still yet haunted her everywhere she looked in this town?
"This village," Leo spoke, if only to break the silence of all except footfalls on snow. "It echoes."
"It... echoes," Flora looked at him curiously for his unusual response to the town. She wondered, perhaps a bit ridiculously, if he was capable of reading minds as she replied, "That is a very apt description, milord. It... most certainly echoes."
"Flora," he began. Then, correcting himself, "Chieftain Flora. I should... on behalf of my family, of course... apologize. I did what I could to prevent father from merely ordering this entire village razed... but he has grown stricter than ever since the Chevrois resistance."
"There is no need to attempt to justify yourself to me, Lord Leo," Flora frowned, mirroring his solemn expression, even as an edge of ice stole its way into her tone.
"I'm not justifying anything," Leo released a low, hollow chuckle, and Flora watched his breath mist the air. "I know as well as you do that there is no justice in this. I mean to... express my regret."
"I... appreciate the sentiment, Lord Leo," and Flora's eyes widened minutely, a hint of surprise at how very genuine his roundabout apology felt. "But if I may be frank?"
"Yes," offered Leo.
"Regret will not bring back my father," she swallowed a lump that was beginning to build in her throat. "Regret will not free my tribe."
"... no, it won't," Leo breathed, a long line of white mist spilling from his lips in a sigh. "No more than regret can return Corrin to us. No more than regret can return Felicia to you."
Another mention of her sister made blood burn in her frozen veins, and Flora bit icily, "What would you know about Felicia?"
"Very little," admitted Leo, and he pursed his lips in something more tender than a frown. "Except that she is your sister, and it... can be difficult to view your sibling as a traitor. Tell me honestly: can you reconcile that girl who tripped over her own feet with the Chief Tactician of Corrin's Hoshidan army? The same army that massacred the Nohrian border guard, without a hint of mercy?"
"No... not Felicia," Flora's eyes drew down to Leo's mouth, his throat, unable to quite look him in the eye. "She was always better at fighting, at hunting... but she doesn't have the heart to hurt a fly."
"I would have said the same thing about Corrin," Leo answered, turning away from her and continuing the trek towards the building. (Had they stopped walking? How had Flora not noticed?)
"Would have?" Flora drew her eyebrows together, matching his step.
"Until I received home the remnants of the border guard, bearing back their dead," Leo's lips thinned grimly. "Dragon-tooth wounds... are very distinctive."
"By the gods," breathed Flora, the air between them filling with the mist of those words.
Those echoes lingered there, in the quiet of winter, and it wasn't until the last of her fogged breath faded that the silence broke once more.
"Sometimes," whispered Leo, almost too-loud in the stillness of the town, "I envy them."
"A treasonous thought within itself, Lord Leo," Flora ventured in cautious return. Still, her heart beat wildly within her chest, and for a moment she truly, genuinely wondered if Leo was capable of reading her thoughts.
"A treasonous thought, but a human one," Leo acknowledged, glancing at her curiously with eyes that glistened like Northern Lights. "You cannot tell me that you've never entertained the thought of running away. Not to Hoshido, of course-- but Izumo, or Nestra. Somewhere nobody can force you to fight and kill people you don't want to fight."
"I have," admitted Flora, for how could she not? She had dreamed of it for years. "I used to think that Felicia would return here and take over the tribe-- it was no secret that my father favored her, though I was the first born. He even named her his successor, there at the end..."
"And you could escape to somewhere, a place nobody knew your name," Leo filled in helpfully, the fantasy as much his as it was hers. "Find a job. I imagined bookkeeping, if you could believe that."
"I can believe it," and Flora's lips, for once, pulled into the tiniest of smiles. "I imagined opening an inn... or, perhaps, eloping. I was a terrible romantic when I was younger."
"Nestra, then," Leo ventured. "I read a novel once... the wise find their peace in Izumo, but romantics leave for Nestra."
"If you don't mind my asking," Flora began, turning her head curiously. "Which do you consider yourself?"
"A foolish realist," Leo answered wryly. He gave an ironic snort, "With enough obligation to the people of Nohr to defend them to the grave. Sometimes, from themselves."
"That's very noble of you," Flora replied, looking at him more softly. It was growing darker yet as the dusk began to fade into night, but somehow she had never seen him more clearly.
"And yet you're still here, too," Leo raised his eyebrows at her. He pursed his lips, "What do you suppose that says about you?"
"That even romantics are sometimes bound by their duties," she sighed, her misted breath thickening, then trailing away.
Her feet stopped at the door of the council-hall as she gazed upon the building that had been childhood home to she and Felicia, and her father and his siblings before them. But Flora was its mistress now, and her people were within, likely seated in the antechamber with its enormous, round table. Council members, some of whom her father himself had difficulty arguing with. Some of whom had very verbally advocated that it should be Felicia, the younger twin, who should inherit this position.
"Well," she said, steeling herself. "This is it."
"It is," Leo answered, giving pause before either of them moved to open the door. "You seem... unnerved."
"I could say the same for you," Flora carefully evaded the question. Merely admitting it out loud might very well be the end of her, she thought.
"I am. For all of his grandstanding, Odin has never prophesied wrong when it's come to my safety," Leo spoke frankly. "I expect to be attacked on sight. You need not be concerned; I will use only nonlethal, restraining measures of self-defense."
"The warriors of the Ice Tribe, including some of our council members, are known for fighting to kill," Flora informed him, though she wasn't entirely certain why.
Perhaps, she thought, because it was only fair to warn him. Perhaps because it was heart-wrenching to watch how very prepared he was to walk into an attack. Or maybe, perhaps because there was something almost endearing about him, and how he felt the echoes of the village beside her.
"Then wish me luck," Leo's chin lifted minutely as he built a shield of his pride, his lower lip glistening faintly in the lantern light, getting chapped in the brisk winds of the North.
And Flora, taking perhaps the last chance to act on her romanticism, lifted herself to the tiptoes of her heels and slowly, softly, pressed her own lips to his.
She whispered, "For luck."
Was there something between them, wondered Leo, though they had hardly a moment alone in the weeks following that first kiss?
It was, he realized, completely ludicrous to think about this when Flora's arm brushed past his without apology, marking on his map the areas that scouts had reported would be optimal to prepare an ambush station. There was only enough time for him to be a lover or a fighter, and he certainly could not choose both.
"These three over here," Leo gestured to the points in question, "In addition to the houses marked in these locations. These locations-- over here, to the East and South-- will be manned by Nohrian troops, to best combat an approach from the direction of Hoshido. In this way, the ranged fighters characteristic to the Ice Tribe will be able to pick off the Hoshidan advance with greater efficacy and lesser risk, as they emerge from here, and here."
"Does that not offer a greater risk to your own people?" Flora looked at him, eyes wide and perplexed.
"It would, if not for the stave-proficient maids we've placed in battalion squads one through four," Leo explained, "Whose abilities to restitch any wounds should be extremely valuable, especially when equipped with something that can heal over a range."
"Physic staves," she hesitated for a moment. "They are... quite expensive, aren't they?"
"... yes," admitted Leo, sighing and brushing hair from his forehead. "And Iago has been... less than helpful in approving our war fund requests... one would think he believes that this war will continue for another thirty years, instead of perhaps three at most. I've secured two; they are in your storehouses as we speak. Niles is in the midst of requisitioning two more, though depending on how easily the salesperson is intimidated into lowering their prices, perhaps we may only be able to manage one."
"You've gone through a great deal of trouble to assist a tribe that is not even yours," Flora remarked, a gentle hand carefully brushing against the bandaged shoulder-wound Leo had earned from proposing the entire plan to her council. "A tribe that hasn't made its hostility a secret. We owe you our thanks."
"You owe me nothing," Leo clarified, with a frown. "You swore your fealty to Nohr. It is the Nohrian Army that owes your people its protection, particularly when you are staging an ambush on our behalf."
"I think you know," Flora looked out of the window briefly, watching her people spar and labor but live, "That I'm not referring to only this battle."
"Father has been... losing his mind as of late," conflict hung on Leo's face just long enough for Flora to notice it. "Xander... will follow his orders, without question, to the very last. Camilla and Elise, they were both far closer to Corrin than I... they struggle still to cope with the betrayal. I will not allow the people of Nohr to go forgotten while we play out this... this... family drama. I suppose... as usual, I'm the only competent one."
Leo offered her a smile so fragile that it was only a grimace in disguise, and Flora did not indulge the romantic urge to kiss it away from his lips.
She was, however, unable to resist cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand-- and, hesitantly, but with gratitude glimmering across her wide, wide eyes, "Thank you, all the same... I oftentimes feel I would be at a loss in this situation, if not for your model of leadership. I can barely fathom... Felicia..."
"I know," and Leo's hand rose to hold hers, his thumb stroking over her wrist. "There are times where I have to make up my mind to hate Corrin-- for every slight of my childhood, for every moment of betrayal that day at the Hoshidan border. And still yet... I cannot always reconcile the two. Corrin, the child I grew up beside, with whom I played dominoes. Corrin, the traitor, whose Hoshidan roots always set me at unease."
"There were times where I thought I hated Felicia," Flora began, curling her fingers slightly into his cheek. "But now, when I might have to... k-kill her... I feel like those feelings were horribly petty, and I can't make myself feel them again."
"Sometimes, to do what needs to be done," Leo began, an exhale of sorrow settling in his next breath. "Sacrifices must be made. Neither of us can afford to spare our feelings... as it always has been. And, perhaps, may always be."
"Yes... for the good of my people," Flora's wide eyes, then, looked soft, taking in the expression of a prince who understood responsibility far too well. If only he had been king, instead of Garon... "And your lord father's orders for the troops once the battle is over?"
"He has... told me that his plans are to withdraw the troops from the vicinity," Leo hesitated momentarily, but ultimately decided to proceed. "But the letter lacked his official seal, bearing only his personal one. This... concerns me, as these plans are not legally binding, nor have they been officially issued. I am worried for the safety of your people... but I've been working on a plan to evacuate them from the immediate vicinity."
"I see..." and Flora, to her credit, had learned to expect betrayal from Garon's mad rule. Whatever misgivings Leo may have had about his near-mutinous theory, she could at least rely on his judgement to be honest. "All right, then... what will I need to do, in the event King Garon reneges on his promises?"
"The feeling that I get... is that, in the event you must cede this battle to the Hoshidans, father may change his plans to include some form of... punishment," Leo sighed, trouble furrowing its way into his brows. "The population of the Ice Tribe is 104 people, as of the most recently updated tally. Approximately thirty seven are of fighting capability; that number could possibly change after tallying battle injuries. It would be near impossible for the Ice Tribe army to fight off their own Nohrian supports, due to the sheer number, even only long enough for the rest to make their escape. I do have a sufficient number of transportation scrolls, except..."
"Except what?" Flora frowned, perplexed, unable to see the complications. They certainly had a sufficient number of mages in each battle formation, and if they escaped into the walls of the shelters where their civilians would be hiding...
"Except the original transdimensional permutation spell these transportation scrolls are based off of..." Leo looked aside, calculations and parameters running through his head. "It was from the Brynhildr, and meant to be used only by those who bear the blood of dragons. One with sufficient enough power to at least sense dragon veins, if not use them, as their presence is essential to the functionality of the spell... there are certainly no such Nohrians here, save for myself."
"I can," whispered Flora. "The blood of the Ice Dragon runs in my veins-- it is the source of my powers. Most of our mages can trace their lineage back to draconic roots... though blood always runs stronger in the chieftain's line."
"Then there is still hope," Leo pronounced solemnly. He reached into his bag, where he held his maps when they were not splayed across war tables, lifted out a thick, thick scroll. "It's... not a simple spell. Not anymore, not when there are one hundred and four people to be transported. Perhaps with... twenty, maybe, it would be doable at almost no cost, but... with great power comes a great price."
"I cannot expect such a weighty magic to be simple... even using my ice powers comes at great consequence, sometimes," Flora nodded resolutely. "What is the cost?"
Leo took a breath to steady himself, "A human life."
Flora's eyes jolted wide, her fingers falling away from Leo's as if he'd burned her, "That's blood magic! You cannot mean to say..."
"Yes, it's blood magic," Leo looked pained by the accusation. "As all magic becomes, when you ask too much of it... Father and Iago would abuse this spellwork, if they knew it existed. Unnecessary deaths, possibly even civilians taken from their homes, all to move armie's across nations. The kind of reign that would incite instability, fear, revolts at the core of Nohr. But... if, just once, you were to slay a Hoshidan while holding the scroll, and cast it in the event the battle turned south..."
"That's far too much power for me to wield," Flora shook her head. "Lord Leo, you have no idea what you are asking of me."
"It is, unfortunately, the power that befits your responsibility," and Leo's face twisted into ill-concealed agony. "There are one hundred and four members of the Ice Tribe who depend on you... I would wield it for you, if I could. But if I left right now, and ended a life to charge that spell, I would be no better than Iago. Better, that the life lost is that of an enemy who must die regardless..."
"No, you're right," Flora's hand reached up, took the scroll decisively. "For the sake of my people... like every leader, I must make difficult decisions. Even if those decisions, at times, come at a cost..."
"You've made far too many difficult decisions for a woman who has been chieftain all of three weeks," Leo answered, brushing his palm over the backs of her white knuckles, clutching the scroll like a lifeline. "I... regret that."
And his eyes in that moment, thought Flora, held not the bloodlust of King Garon, nor even the ferocity of Prince Xander. Only a very grim, solemn responsibility twinged with something like apology.
She answered, "I know... but for all we may regret, in the name of duty, we must not regret anything more."
"Then," answered Leo, his eyes flickering like a candle on the last of its wick, nervous. "What about regrets that have nothing to do with duty?"
"We must solve those on our own time, of course," Flora looked at him quizzically, pursing her lips. "Was there something you wished to discuss with me, milord?"
"Discuss, no," Leo shook his head. He inhaled, to suck in whatever courage may have escaped him, "But I think... I would regret it, if that kiss we shared were the last one."
"Lord Leo," and Flora, to her credit, managed to appear only slightly bemused. "Are you asking me for permission to kiss me?"
"Is there a problem with that?" Leo shifted uncomfortably.
"There is no problem, milord," a rare smile, as she drifted closer. She whispered, like a childish secret, "It's only that nobody's ever wanted to kiss me before."
"Well, I do," and before Leo could think about how terribly his words echoed a marriage vow, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, close-mouthed, too-gentle, but slow.
Everyone, realized Flora, had to indulge in a bit of romanticism from time to time, even prince-tacticians with dour faces, but caring hands. And maybe, she thought, it was okay for her to get swept up in the moment, too.
They stood together, hands still sandwiched over the scroll, even after Leo backed away, eyes carefully lingering on each others' faces as if they were afraid the moment would break when they looked away.
But moments were fragile things, and theirs shattered when a sharp knocking at the door drew their attention, Flora hurriedly stuffing the scroll into the concealed pockets of her skirt, Leo straightening his hair as if it had somehow gotten mussed.
"Come in," Leo announced, when he thought the red had faded from his cheeks, when he felt they could both reasonably conceal their fluster.
"Lord Leo," answered Niles, bowing low enough that his hair nearly touched the ground. "Sorry for interrupting... this rendezvous, but we can't delay your mission any longer. Garon himself wrote a military missive ordering your team of dark mages to raise ten scores of Faceless by the end of this week. Odin wrote you this novella about how one of the less experienced mages lost control of his thralls, and how they had to destroy thirty of them."
"I suppose they do need someone competent to head the project," Leo released an aggrieved sigh. "Give me a moment to pack my charting materials. Wait at the dragon vein between the two trees, next to that pond. I'll be with you in a quarter-hour."
"Your wish, Lord Leo, is my command," Niles, having never drawn himself out of the bow, straightened up and exited with all due haste.
There was a moment of silence, then, as Leo began to put away his compasses and pens, the tactical reverence books he'd brought for planning this battle.
"So," Flora said, quietly, watching him. "This is it, then."
"... perhaps it is, for now," Leo answered, oddly silent. "That scroll, you know... it's written to take you to Nestra. Close to Cheve. As refugees in a neutral country... I can't imagine we'll meet again until the war is over, at least. But, someday..."
"Someday," repeated Flora encouragingly.
"Maybe someday they won't need the youngest prince of Nohr to plan battles any longer," Leo replied, eyes momentarily dreaming, unfocused. Daring to hope, "And perhaps, someday, a Nestrian inn, kept by a romantic, will need a bookkeeper."
"Perhaps," answered Flora, leaning up on the tips of her toes to seal it with her lips, like a delicate vow. "Perhaps, someday."
Epilogue
The serving-girl wore her eyes wide, alert-- King Leo noticed that first.
He noticed it before he realized that, no, she maintained the garb typical for the working class of Cyrkensia, and not the ornamental maid clothes favored in Nohr. And, no, she'd told him, she had never been outside of Nestra. She was a complete stranger, however familiar she seemed. Perhaps, at first glance, her hair of icy-blue had evoked that heartwrenching familiarity, her wide eyes echoing with notes of romanticism. Perhaps Leo was merely seeing things, because he wanted so badly for them to be true.
"Palla of Cyrkensia," she introduced herself with a smile. "Can I help you?"
Leo's thoughts traitorously jumped to that is not Flora.
A ridiculous thought, he knew, when he was well aware Flora had died years ago, after a fateful battle in the Ice Tribe's village. He could still hear Felicia's echoing cries, swallowed in the dark of the swamp, could still feel the way his throat dropped to his gut when he heard "Flora... why, Flora..." among the sobs of the Hoshidan approach. But Leo, then, had heard enough, and for all of his failures to genuinely hate Corrin, he had no difficulty at all gathering the rage to loathe Corrin, to wish the whole Hoshidan army dead for deigning to take away Flora, and with her their shared dream.
It was in the wake of battle they told him, when he'd dared to ask what had happened in the village.
"I wanted so badly to sway her to our side," Felicia had whispered, tears budding at the corners of her eyes. "But when I approached her, we fought... and she was so strong, so much stronger than when we sparred as kids, and I think... I think that was the first time I lost to her."
"... then you lost the battle with the Ice Tribe," Leo replied then, nursing a quiet hope. A hope that was fed by the tribe's fierceness, its proof still a newly-healed scar on his shoulder.
"No... the rest of our forces were able to defeat the militia there," and Felicia shook her head, swallowed her tears. "Flora... she hesitated. She hesitated on the finishing blow, and then she was surrounded. And... and rather than surrender..."
Too choked up to continue, Felicia dissolved into tears. She hardly seemed like Hoshido's Chief Tactician, then, and Leo felt like even less of Nohr's.
"She... ended her own life," Corrin finished Felica's sentence for her, as delicately as possible.
Unable to bring herself to kill her own sister, Flora had offered up her own life as sacrificial tribute to the balances of magic. It was as clear as crystal to Leo, then, what she had chosen to do in the name of duty, in the name of bringing her people to refuge.
Foolish, half of Leo thought. Romantic, the other half corrected. Emotional, idealistic, romantic.
"Um, excuse me, sir?" Palla-of-Cyrkensia's voice cut across his musings, pulled him back to the present. "Are you okay? You looked kind of... out of it for a moment."
"I am fine," Leo answered, and distantly wondered if Nestra, like the Northern Fortress, had never heard of a lie. A ludicrous thought, he knew. Still, he found words coming unbidden to his lips: "I was wondering who kept the books at this establishment."
"That'll be my husband," and her eyes shone with that romanticism again, but her smile was not Flora's. "Mattimeo's manning the kitchen right now, though. We're short on hands."
"... hm," Leo replied noncommittally. And, though the inn was otherwise deserted, "If you're short on hands, I shouldn't keep you with idle chatter... I'd like to order a standard meal here. And a coffee."
"Sounds like a plan," and Palla nodded, heart already giddy for the excuse to enter the kitchen, even if it was visible through the open wall behind the bar from where Leo sat.
He watched her gently brush the chef-bookkeeper's shoulder. Felt the scar on his own ache.
Leo looked away, unable to bear intruding on the intimate moment any further.
They were different, so very different, from anything he and Flora had ever been... but yet, yet too was there something in Palla's wide eyes that spoke of the romanticism in Flora's, before it was burned away. And, perhaps, there was an echo in Mattimeo's that reminded Leo of a Chief Tactician who seemed decades away instead of mere years, before the last of his own romanticism was crushed beneath the heel of duty. Before the last of his freedom was destroyed alongside his family.
But perhaps, he thought, there was something of Flora-- something of her romanticism-- that lived on in his heart, if nowhere else. He was here now, wasn't he, waiting to meet with the Hoshidan peace committee not by watching the grand Nestrian operas or by touring the parks, but by visiting a run-down inn that bore the hints of a long-dead dream. A living ghost, he thought, of what could have been.
"This place," whispered the King of Nohr, entirely to himself. "It echoes."