Cast from the Heart

[royaltyjunk]

Summary:

It always helped to have him by her side. In which Cecilia learns what magic entails.

 

Author’s Ideas: Did someone say obscure pairings? No? Oh, well. I read the FE6 manga and asked my friends for prompts about it because I needed to write something else Fire Emblem related for you all. One of them just said “straight up Perceval/Cecilia” so I guess that’s what we’re doing.

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

Cast from the Heart

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

When they had been six, she accidentally sets Duke Reglay’s cape on fire.

  

Cecilia didn’t mean to, she swears. She was just practicing her magic, what couldn’t people understand about that? At least Perceval understands - but it’s hard for him not to because he was there.

 

Her parents brought her to the Reglay estate that day alongside Perceval’s family to discuss the political unrest in the Etrurian court. The two children were taken to the outside garden, supervised by the estate maids.

 

“Hey, Cecilia!”

  

She looks up from the book in her hands and huffs. “What do you want, Perceval?”

 

“Stop reading your book and come spar with me!”

  

She scrunches her face up. “I don’t do sparring, you know that.”

  

“It’s better than reading that dusty old useless thing and doing nothing!”

 

Cecilia snaps the book shut and stands up, glaring at the young boy. “It is not useless!”

 

“You’ve been doing nothing ever since we got here! Besides, aren’t you supposed to be training in staves?”

 

“Mother says I’m experienced enough to move onto tomes,” she puffs her chest out a bit proudly, ignoring the guiltiness that rushes through her.

 

“That’s not fair,” Perceval complains.

 

“It is fair, you’re just not working hard enough." 

 

“And you are?”

 

“Of course!” Cecilia bristles.

 

“Then why don’t you use that tome? You’re studying to use magic, right? You’re supposed to practice, like with staves.”

  

A hint of fear bites down on her, but she shakes it off and holds her head high. “Fine.”

  

She flips through the red book, glossing over the pages. She begins to chant, her hand heating up. Perceval can only watch with amazed eyes as a small flame begins to grow in Cecilia’s palm. She shuts the book and smiles at the blonde boy.

  

“See?”

  

When she gets no response, she rolls her eyes and throws the flames down on the ground in front of her.

 

Just then, Duke Reglay appears, a Warp staff in hand, and the children watch, one in horror and one in incredulousness, as the flames latch onto Duke Reglay’s cape instead.

  

Yet, the duke doesn’t seem affected, and thrusts a blast of wind at his burning cape, chanting off a incantation as he does so. He dusts off his hands, a gentle smile on his face.

 

“Erk has set my cape aflame too many times for me to be surprised. Although, I must admit, I did not expect you to be the one doing it next.”

 

“I- I am so sorry, Duke Reglay!” Cecilia squeaks, bowing to the white-haired general.

 

“It was my fault, Duke Reglay!” Perceval chimes in, standing straight and lifting his head up. “If you are angry, be angry with me, not Cecilia!”

 

“Oh, I’m far too amused to be angry. Tell me, Cecilia, where did you learn to use magic like that? Your mother only said that you were training in staves.”

 

She squirms uncomfortably, glancing guiltily at Perceval before exposing the truth. “Mother doesn’t know that… I read tomes in my free time. Grandfather taught me a bit of the ancient language that tomes are written in. Mother doesn’t think I’m ready for magic! She keeps babying me, wanting to keep me behind the front lines!”

 

“And why wouldn’t you want to stay safe? Why wouldn’t you want to be protected?” Pent asks.

 

“Because… I want to be the next Mage General!” She blurts. Pent raises his eyebrows, and she glances away. “Everyone thinks I can’t do it, but I’ll prove them wrong!”

 

“And to think I was looking for someone when you were here this whole time…” The Mage General gives her a smile, and crouches beside her. “I’m sure you can do it. I believe in you.”

 

“You do?” Cecilia gasps before a huge smile breaks over her face. “Thank you, Duke Reglay!”

 

“Now, come. Your parents are waiting for you,” Pent stands, offering his hand to Cecilia. She takes it, waves a goodbye to Perceval, and disappears along with Pent, leaving Perceval to stand, slack-jawed and wondering about himself.

 

The next time he meets her, she bows to him and introduces herself as Duke Reglay’s, the Mage General’s, apprentice.

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

He finds her in the forest when her grandfather dies.

 

The news reaches his house late in the afternoon, when the messenger all but faints by the main gates. The next thing he knows, he’s thrown into a carriage and carted off to Cecilia’s house with no reason told to him until he gets there and sees the glass casket in the middle of the hall.

 

“The funeral is next morning,” his mother tells him, unfastening her long boots. “Get some sleep. We came in late tonight.”

 

What she says is true. The sun had set when they were halfway to Cecilia’s estate, and when he looks out, the sky is filled with the bright glow of stars, splattered over the nighttime hue. Yet, he can’t rest until he knows.

 

“Can I go see Cecilia?” He asks.

 

His father shakes his head. “No.”

 

His mother shushes her husband and ponders upon it. “I think… he should go. You heard what Lady Alessandra was saying earlier about her daughter. The poor child…”

 

“It’s too late. He can see her tomorrow.”

 

“It won’t hurt him to stay up a little. The funeral doesn’t start until a few hours after dawn.”

  

His father sighs. “Have it your way, then.” He disappears into the washroom. Perceval’s mother bundles him out of the room and down the staircase.

 

“Lady Amber, Lord Perceval, what are you doing up so late?” Lady Alessandra asks, and Perceval turns to see her in the hallway.

 

“Perceval wished to see Lady Cecilia. Is that alright with you?”

 

Lady Alessandra sighs, brushing a piece of green hair behind her ear. “Normally, yes, but… Cecilia is not here right now.”

 

“What do you mean?” Perceval jumps forward from behind his mother. “Where is she?”

 

“Perceval!” His mother scolds, but Cecilia’s mother just gives him an understanding smile.

 

“She’s outside, in the forest. Saint Elimine knows how long she’ll stay out there.”

 

“The forest? But it’s so dangerous out there! Will she really be okay out there?” Lady Amber frets.

 

“She brought her tomes with her, she’ll be fine. She goes out into that forest all the time, anyways. I’m sure the forest animal know better than to attack the girl who sings them songs, brings them strengthening herbs, and makes target practice of intruding humans. Still…”

 

“I’ll go check on her,” Perceval volunteers.

 

“Oh, don’t, Perceval! Cecilia needs-”

 

“Some company,” Cecilia’s mother interrupts. “She’s a friendly girl. She’ll get lonely quite quickly, but knowing her, will not come back unless someone goes to get her.” Lady Alessandra sighs. “Go ahead, Perceval. There should be some torches and swords in the barracks. Equip yourself as you need to. The forest is behind our estate, along the edge of the coast.”

 

“Thank you, Lady Alessandra,” Perceval gives her a bow and dashes off to the barracks. He tucks a sheathed steel sword against his belt and takes a torch off the nearby wall before dashing out, weaving his way out of the castle using the stables. He glances around a bit, gleaning the area before spotting the forest Cecilia’s mother mentioned.

 

He trudges forward, aware of the night growing around him. Taking a deep breath, he pushes through the ferns and bushes in front of the forest, and takes his first step in.

 

Almost immediately, he’s nearly knocked off his feet by an assailant. He draws his sword, gripping his torch tight, but pauses when he spots the person.

 

“Cecilia?”

 

She freezes, her voice a whisper. “Perceval?”

 

Suddenly, she dashes from her spot in front of him deeper into the forest.

 

“Wait!” He screams, sheathing his sword and racing after her.

 

“Stop it!” She yells back. “Leave me alone!” In the torchlight, he can barely make out the tears streaming down her face before she turns her face from him swiftly.

  

“Cecilia, wait! I was looking for you!”

  

“Why!? So you could give me an empty apology and your pity, just like everyone else!?” She spits out the words like poison.

  

“Cecilia…” he breathes. She skids to a stop in a clearing, stumbling over tree roots before collapsing against a tree stump at the edge of the empty space. Her sobs ricochet through the empty night sky, and he crouches beside her before blowing out the torch in his hand, leaving them in blackness.

 

“I’m sorry, Perceval… you have to see me like this…” she whispers. “And… I’m sorry about what I said earlier…”

 

“No… it’s fine. Loss… does that to you.”

 

“Oh, I miss Grandfather so… he taught me… so much…”

 

Perceval reaches forward, brushing her long sidebangs behind her ear. She lifts her head and meets his gaze. Her lips quiver, and he holds out his arms awkwardly, but his meaning clear.

 

She falls against him, her tears falling steadily now. He just holds her tight, gently patting her back. Slowly, her sobs die down, and the tears that stain his shoulder are lost.

 

“Hey, Cecilia?” He asks.

 

“Yes?” She whispers.

 

“Is this a new tome? From… your grandfather?” Perceval reaches past her and snatches a yellow-covered book, leaning against the tree stump nearby. She stares blankly at it before nodding.

 

“It’s… Thunder. A common spell for mages to learn after Fire.”

 

“Were you going to practice it?” He asks gently.

 

She nods. He hands her the tome. “Then practice. Practice as much as you want to… in memory of your grandfather. It’s better than sitting around and moping, isn’t it?”

 

He half-expects another sharp response from her, but she nods slowly. “Yes, you’re right,” she says tentatively, as if trying to convince herself as well. “Grandfather would have wanted me to do the best I could… even in a time now.”

 

She looks up at him, a determined look in her eyes. He pulls her to her feet, and she chants under her breath softly. Fire sparks to life in her hand, and she increases the intensity of the flame before pouring over the contents of the tome.

 

He smiles and picks up the discarded torch, groaning as he realizes he’ll have to make his way through the forest in the dark.

 

“Wait,” she says, and with a wave of her hand, the torch in his hand burns back to life. He gives her a nod, and she tilts her head. “Why’d you put it out?”

 

“You were crying, and I didn’t have anywhere to put it. It is your fault, technically.”

 

She sniffles and smiles. “I guess you’re right.”

 

He squeezes her shoulder before gripping the torch with his other hand and walking away. Moments later, he smiles when he hears the sound of thunder and sees the flash of lightning crackling from the clearing.

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

She thinks it cruel when she is put in charge of the cremation of Perceval’s parents, but can’t find it in her heart to refuse.

  

Especially since Perceval himself had asked her.

 

He asks her when he makes the trip to her estate instead of a messenger, after he announces to the entire household that his parents are dead - one to illness, and another to hostile enemy troops on the Western Isles.

 

He beckons for her to come forward then instead of Lady Alessandra. Her mother doesn’t say anything, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, and Cecilia glares at her mother before stepping forward to meet Perceval.

 

“Cecilia… I’m asking this on behalf of my family, and myself,” he starts, and his voice is bleak, miserable. He sounds so much like a drudge it twists her heart, and she lays a reassuring hand on his. He blinks at her appreciatively before continuing. “Will you… be the one to cremate my parents?”

 

“Of course,” she murmurs, and Perceval gives her hand a gentle squeeze.

 

“We will do the ceremony at your earliest convenience,” he states.

 

“Well, let’s go, then.”

 

“Are you sure? Don’t you have work to do? You command the Etrurian Army Valkyries, don’t you?”

 

“I’m sure they’ll understand. Let me get saddled up. I’ll meet you outside the stables.”

 

He nods woodenly and walks away, a certain stiffness in his movements. She sighs, concern lacing her breath, and her mother lays a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“I know you’re worried about him,” Lady Alessandra murmurs, “but don’t bother him. He’s different than you are when he grieves. Trust me.”

  

“I know,” she whispers back, and walks away.

 

She saddles up after collecting her belongings, and pushes her white mare out of the stables, trotting up to where he sits, hunched over on his midnight black warhorse.

 

“Perceval,” she says, and he glances over his shoulder, a brittle smile breaking over his face.

 

“Ready?” He asks. She can only nod.

 

They reach his estate at dawn, and she’s thrown into a multitude of preparations and ceremonial robes before they finally declare her ready, around noon.

 

When she exits, she thanks Perceval for letting her sleep on the way to the estate, and he just nods, the dark circles around his eyes seemingly growing darker by the second. She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, and he squeezes back.

 

She drums her fingertips along the maroon cover of the new tome in her hands, and he glances at it. “Elfire?” He asks.

 

“Yes,” she responds. He would know. He’d memorized the common spell list of most Anima mages years ago in an attempt to remind Cecilia of the next spell she had to try.

 

“...It was my mother’s favorite spell,” he whispers.

 

“That’s why I picked it.”

 

He just gives her a grateful smile and steps out of the estate and into the backyard, where the deep red velvet casket holding his parents’ corpses is. She follows him, and the people in attendance follow her up to the front of the casket with their eyes.

 

Perceval says a few parting words, and then gestures for Cecilia to start. She doesn’t have time to ask if he’s okay, because she knows he could do better than just a few sentences about his parents. Resisting the urge to ignore time, she opens the maroon book.

 

A jumble of ancient language meets her eyes, and she reads it over, her eyes sharply memorizing each word written. She shuts the scarlet book, reaching one hand outwards and chanting the spell of Elfire.

 

A circle of fire draws itself around the casket, and then erupts as she thrusts her hand upwards. Multiple shades of red and orange dance before her eyes, highlighted with golden, yellow, white.

 

Cecilia holds the tome close to her chest, breathing heavily as she watches the beautiful velvet casket go up in flames.

 

Perceval stares impassively at the column of fire, and she finds herself drawn to his side. Her tome clatters onto the floor, and he turns to meet her. Gently, as if she were taking up a delicate treasure, she holds his hands.

 

His fingers shake in her delicate palms, and she reaches up to touch his face, feeling his tears trail along her gloved hand, trickling down her arm. He wraps a trembling hand around hers.

 

“Your hands are warm,” he comments quietly, as if the hot tears that fall down his own cheeks mean nothing to him.

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

She had received the Aircalibur tome during her stay in Ostia. It stares her down every time she enters her study, daring her to open it, to read it and call to her hand the fury of the wind.

 

It’s silly, how the Mage General herself can’t bring to cast a spell that her teacher knew by heart, all because a certain other person would never visit her anymore. 

 

She knew it was silly. Those were childish feelings and thoughts about the appointed Knight General, thoughts and emotions that were all in the past. Yet, she can’t help but feel the gap between them yawning awake, larger than a gorge. 

 

He buries himself in work now, and there’s a familiar stiffness in all his movements, a woodenness so much like when he was grieving. He teaches and directs the Cavalry Troop now, a step-up from his previous hold over the Elite Paladin Unit, and he’s so stern. A solemn look houses his face every day now, instead of the slightly smug and cheerful visage he once had. He’s gone, now. The Perceval she once knew seems to have disappeared, and she finds it disconcerting. 

 

Her year-long stay in Ostia changed him, badly. Even though she’s the catalyst for that change, she doesn’t know how to fix it, and just thinking about it grips her heart with icy claws of despair. 

 

She gets a letter one day, from Roy, requesting aid from Etruria. She brings the letter up to King Mordred in the next council, and Roartz frowns upon her, but before he can object, a new voice speaks out. 

 

“I’ll accompany her,” she hears Perceval speak up from the other side of the room. The king nods blankly and dismisses them.

 

“Perceval-” she starts when she catches up to him, but he shakes his head.

 

“We’ll talk on the road,” he says curtly. “Gather your belongings. We must leave as soon as possible.”

 

He walks away then, and she stares after him, a pit of dismay opening in her heart before she closes it and buries herself in her duties. 

 

In her hurry to pack her belongings, she snatches a stack of tomes from her study and shoves them into her leather bag. Only when they're on the road and halfway through Etruria’s roadside villages does she realize that the Aircalibur tome is at the bottom of the stack.

 

One morning, she stares at the stack of magic spells she packed. Elfire, Thunder, Elthunder… and Aircalibur. She gathers the thunder tomes into her arms, and hesitantly picks up Aircalibur. She wishes that Perceval could’ve walked in at that moment, accompanied her to the training grounds where he’d watch her practice, where he’d help her memorize and recite spells. 

 

They’re not children anymore, though. She has to learn to move on, if he’s leaving her behind. She takes in a deep breath, takes up the three spell books, and leaves her tent. 

 

Perceval finds her outside in the training grounds a few hours later, throwing spells left and right. 

 

“Cecilia? What are you doing out here?”

 

She starts, but then relaxes, turning to meet him. A page of a tome drifts out from the Elthunder she's holding, and she brushes some hair behind her ear, bending down to pick up a Thunder tome and a strange green tome. 

 

He catches her wrist, and she looks up at him. Perceval taps the green cover of the spell book. “Which spell is this?” 

 

“Aircalibur,” she responds softly. Her eyes dance with cheerfulness then. “I thought you memorized the common spell list of Anima mages.”

 

“That was a long time ago,” he responds bitterly, and she lets her gaze falter away from him and onto the Aircalibur tome in her hands.

 

Perceval raises an eyebrow at her, and she opens the tome, her fingers trembling. 

 

“I've never used it before,” she whispers, but before he can stop her, her hand is outstretched, her lips moving swiftly in an ancient tongue of mages. The tips of her finger glow a bright green and blue.

 

She thrusts her hand downwards, and a great cluster of wind blasts into one spot before them, razor-sharp.

 

“It's effective against fliers,” Cecilia observes. “The incantation is a summoning of wind that curses fliers.”

 

“When did you receive this?” Perceval asks.

 

“In Ostia. One of the scholars gave it to me as a gift.”

 

“That was a year ago. Why didn’t you use it?” He frowns, looking at her. Cecilia smiles, shutting the spell book.

 

“It always helps to have you by my side.”

 

He just laughs, a certain fire returning to his eyes for a split second. 

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

He has to steady her when she first chants the incantations of Forblaze.

 

He finds her on the battlefield, two tomes gripped tightly in her hand and her forehead laden with sweat. He ducks under two sparring cavaliers, calling for her. 

 

“Cecilia!”

 

Her head jolts up just as she takes one book and tears it open, her lips which had prepared to chant a spell forming into a shocked cry of his name, but he dashes past her, striking down the soldier aiming for her before turning to catch her eyes. 

 

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, slowing his mount beside hers.

 

“What are you doing here?” She whispers.

 

“Stand aside,” he warns, but she shakes her head.

 

“I can protect myself, Perceval. You should know that by now.” Despite her own words, her eyes dart about the battlefield in a nervous panic, gazing over the havoc and chaos occurring.

 

He glances at her, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you look so nervous, Cecilia? Did something happen?”

 

“No… it’s nothing.” Still, her fingers tighten around the strange red tome in her hands.

 

She can sense his eyes on Forblaze, and Cecilia brushes aside her long green hair from her eyes, giving him a reassuring smile. 

 

Perceval opens his mouth to protest, but she opens the Aircalibur tome in her other hand and flings her hand forward. Multiple blasts of air strike down on a person behind him, one particularly fast one grazing Perceval’s ear and drawing blood. 

 

He ignores the crimson beading along the cut, instead turning and diving into the fray. Cecilia is right behind him, and together, they hack and slash and cast away the enemies that swarm their path. 

“General Cecilia!” They both turn at the call of her name, and Lilina dashes forward, darting through their troops to stand in front of her. “Roy wants you to use the Forblaze. The enemy general is susceptible to magical attacks, and I am on healing duty as of now.”

 

“Of course I will.” She gestures to Perceval, who nods.

 

“The enemy general is stationed at the castle. There are a large amount of troops and reinforcements waiting by, but I can dispatch some of them. The rest…” he glances down at the intricate tome carved with flames. “I leave up to you.”

 

She nods respectfully, and tucks Aircalibur into an empty leather sack on her mount. Perceval takes her hand and squeezes it softly, a reassuring warmth resonating from his hand. She smiles up at him, and he smiles back, a warm fire burning his eyes, a flame that hasn’t been there for a while. But when the sound of enemies meets their ears, he steels himself, and his eyes harden. He releases her hand, drawing his sword.

 

She dashes around the troop of enemies, urging her mount faster. She rounds the mountain edges, spotting the enemy castle. 

 

“Hey! How she'd get past!?”

 

Cecilia opens Forblaze, and takes a moment to gather her ancient language tongue, then spits out a flurry of words, reading the tome. Her hand glows a bright orange, then flushes red. Flames spark up from every angle of her hand, and she tosses her hand in the direction of the advancing enemy troops. 

 

An ocean of fire erupts, spreading across the enemy castle and consuming them, the flames licking and burning everything in sight and in reach. Their opponents scream as they scorch in the open fire. It laps at the battlefield like waves on a beach, and vertigo washes over Cecilia. 

 

Black dots swim in front of her eyes, and she gasps, pressing a hand to her forehead. She can’t tell which one is hotter. She leans to the side, feeling herself slipping from her mount’s saddle. 

 

A pair of strong arms catch her, and she catches a glimpse of blonde hair. It’s Perceval, who dismounted just to steady her. 

 

He places her feet on the ground gently, and presses a hand to her forehead before jerking away. “You’re burning up…” 

 

“It’s just… a side effect… nothing much…” Her breath comes out in ragged pants, and she’s all but leaning into Perceval.

 

“It’s not just a side effect,” he breathes, and then shouts for a healer.

 

Clarine comes dashing up, with an unfamiliar swordsmen behind her. “General Cecilia!? Is she okay?" 

 

“She doesn’t have a fever, but her temperature is outrageously high,” Perceval explains, letting Clarine examine the green-haired woman shivering in his arms.

 

“Clarine…” Cecilia offers her a smile, but is seized by another wave of blackness, and grips Perceval’s arm as she lurches forward. He puts his arms around her, letting her rest his forehead on his chest. Even through his breastplate and multiple layers of clothes beneath, he can feel the burning heat on Cecilia’s skin.

 

The blonde lady leans forward, touching a hand to Cecilia’s temple. The staff in her hand glows, and Clarine gasps, stumbling backwards. 

 

“There’s… something… darkness and pain… I can’t heal her…”

 

“What do you mean you can’t heal her?”

 

“I can’t… wait…” Clarine whips around then, staring at the brown-haired swordmaster behind her. “Is this… the effect of a Divine Weapon?” The once prideful and haughty daughter of Reglay is now panicked, with terror glimmering in her eyes.

 

The young man places a hand defensively on the large sword, sheathed on his belt. “The Durandal… you were there when I first unsheathed it, weren’t you?” 

 

“Yes… the same symptoms are occurring in her now. A temperature that equates to a life-threatening fever, but only signs of exhaustion and overworking… you still feel those symptoms, don’t you, Rutger?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“What?” Perceval stares at the two conversing, wide-eyed. His voice is the most akin to a shriek than Cecilia has ever heard. “So… these effects are life-lasting?”

 

“It doesn’t… matter…” Cecilia murmurs, leaning away from Perceval and straightening. “I must… fight on…”

 

“Cecilia, you can’t-”

 

She shakes her head, cutting him off. “I have to… for the sake of… our country." 

 

Cecilia limps off then, and he’s left to stare after her, a seemingly old and wise woman in a young lady’s body.

 

~ / . / . / ~

 

To nobody in particular, he speaks a single sentence.

 

“It’s over… isn’t it?”

 

She watches carefully as he sets his silver lance upon its pedestal. For a moment, time freezes, and all she can see is a man, a man whom has been reborn from the shell of the general he has once been. 

 

He turns to look at her, his gaze flickering down to the intricate book of flames in her grasp. 

 

“Will you not return it?” He asks.

 

She nods. “I will. Tomorrow.” 

 

There was an unspoken promise and apology in his eyes, a promise of companionship and an apology for him, for acting the way he did. She reaches out tentatively, her fingers ghosting along his cheek. He smiles, a smile of happiness and a glow of joy, and she smiles back. 

 

So long as the man beside her is Perceval, Cecilia will know that her magic is cast from her heart.