Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Epiloguery ❯ Answers ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Radish 
A tiny bit more mild father-inspired Jill-angst.
Anime/Manga: Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Fire Emblem Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.24.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 795 | Visits: 687 | Status: Work In Progress
A tiny bit more mild father-inspired Jill-angst.
Anime/Manga: Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Fire Emblem Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.24.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 795 | Visits: 687 | Status: Work In Progress
Fire Emblem and stuff © Nintendo
Okay, this next chapter continues the one previous. It was originally going to be part of the chapter after it, but it seemed better as its own chapter, though it is a bit short. Blah blah blah, start.
Answers
by Radish Anarcane
It was the last room. The room she’d been avoiding. The room she’d been dreading. The room where she half-expected to see her father sitting in his chair, waiting for her, stern-faced and a scolding at the ready.
She opened the door to her father’s study slowly, nervously, like she had as a child in anxious anticipation of the reason he had summoned her there. Just as when she was a child the first thing her eyes went to was the chair. The chair from which he would declare punishments and lecture on the proper behavior of a soldier and a lady, a picture of cold discipline and control. The chair from which he would declare his pride in her and sing the praises of her most recent accomplishments, looking like the happiest father in the world.
But unlike when she was a child, the chair was empty, and had been for some time.
She walked into the room slowly, only half-cured of her irrational fears. She could still feel his eyes on her, somehow. From the chair. From the shadows of the room. It felt as though the room itself was watching her, expectantly.
She sat down in the other chair. Truthfully, there were more than two chairs in the room, but in her mind she could only ever see the two; his chair behind the desk, and her chair in front of it. Her chair in times of punishment and lecture. In times of pride and praise she always ended up on his knee, even into her teen years.
From her chair she looked across the desk to his, looked into her father’s eyes across the divide that separated them, and she spoke.
“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her lap where her hands were clasped together. “I was angry and I said terrible things.” She lifted her head again to look at the memory of her father, sitting in his chair. “I hope you can forgive me.”
She shook her head, looking away again with a sad smile. “But how can I ask that when I can’t forgive you?” Her gaze returned to her father, looking no longer penitent. “I’m sorry for…how I spoke of you, for what I called you, but…I meant what I said. I don’t understand why you let yourself die. Why you left me al…” She squeezed her eyes shut and sniffed, shaking her head. “Haar said your men had no trouble getting their families out of Daein. And he said with the chaos of the war it wouldn’t have been any harder if you had surrendered. And he said you would have known that. Especially as the time came to surrender, as you saw the might of Crimea’s forces, you would have known. So why?”
She closed her eyes tightly again as another question burned in her mind. “And why…did you say my name? Why then? What did it mean?” She sat there with her eyes closed for several moments, letting tears fall gently down her face as the question hung in the air. Then she picked herself up, dried her eyes, and looked around the room.
What did she want to take with her? She was only here for personal items, for things that brought back the few memories she could still be proud of. Mostly things of her mother so far. In this room she would find things of her father.
But as she searched the room she found nothing to take. The books, bookcases, records, and pens that filled the room never held any significance for her. The desk meant nothing without the chairs. Her chair only brought back not-exactly-fond memories of every scolding she’d ever received. And her father’s chair…was empty. It was only a reminder that he was gone.
No, the things she wanted to take from this room had already been taken. Her father’s knee. His pride-filled voice. His smiling face. And not even the most feeble of replacements for these things could be found, in this room or anywhere else. Forgiveness. Apology. Answers.
She had to dry her eyes again as she left the room empty-handed.
Okay, this next chapter continues the one previous. It was originally going to be part of the chapter after it, but it seemed better as its own chapter, though it is a bit short. Blah blah blah, start.
Answers
by Radish Anarcane
It was the last room. The room she’d been avoiding. The room she’d been dreading. The room where she half-expected to see her father sitting in his chair, waiting for her, stern-faced and a scolding at the ready.
She opened the door to her father’s study slowly, nervously, like she had as a child in anxious anticipation of the reason he had summoned her there. Just as when she was a child the first thing her eyes went to was the chair. The chair from which he would declare punishments and lecture on the proper behavior of a soldier and a lady, a picture of cold discipline and control. The chair from which he would declare his pride in her and sing the praises of her most recent accomplishments, looking like the happiest father in the world.
But unlike when she was a child, the chair was empty, and had been for some time.
She walked into the room slowly, only half-cured of her irrational fears. She could still feel his eyes on her, somehow. From the chair. From the shadows of the room. It felt as though the room itself was watching her, expectantly.
She sat down in the other chair. Truthfully, there were more than two chairs in the room, but in her mind she could only ever see the two; his chair behind the desk, and her chair in front of it. Her chair in times of punishment and lecture. In times of pride and praise she always ended up on his knee, even into her teen years.
From her chair she looked across the desk to his, looked into her father’s eyes across the divide that separated them, and she spoke.
“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her lap where her hands were clasped together. “I was angry and I said terrible things.” She lifted her head again to look at the memory of her father, sitting in his chair. “I hope you can forgive me.”
She shook her head, looking away again with a sad smile. “But how can I ask that when I can’t forgive you?” Her gaze returned to her father, looking no longer penitent. “I’m sorry for…how I spoke of you, for what I called you, but…I meant what I said. I don’t understand why you let yourself die. Why you left me al…” She squeezed her eyes shut and sniffed, shaking her head. “Haar said your men had no trouble getting their families out of Daein. And he said with the chaos of the war it wouldn’t have been any harder if you had surrendered. And he said you would have known that. Especially as the time came to surrender, as you saw the might of Crimea’s forces, you would have known. So why?”
She closed her eyes tightly again as another question burned in her mind. “And why…did you say my name? Why then? What did it mean?” She sat there with her eyes closed for several moments, letting tears fall gently down her face as the question hung in the air. Then she picked herself up, dried her eyes, and looked around the room.
What did she want to take with her? She was only here for personal items, for things that brought back the few memories she could still be proud of. Mostly things of her mother so far. In this room she would find things of her father.
But as she searched the room she found nothing to take. The books, bookcases, records, and pens that filled the room never held any significance for her. The desk meant nothing without the chairs. Her chair only brought back not-exactly-fond memories of every scolding she’d ever received. And her father’s chair…was empty. It was only a reminder that he was gone.
No, the things she wanted to take from this room had already been taken. Her father’s knee. His pride-filled voice. His smiling face. And not even the most feeble of replacements for these things could be found, in this room or anywhere else. Forgiveness. Apology. Answers.
She had to dry her eyes again as she left the room empty-handed.