I apologise for butchering several languages while writing this. And if most of couldn't let, I confess that I haven't played the games yet, but I know enough to know that this is hands down one of my favourite pairings: enjoy Azurrin week, everybody!

Since birth, he had stood at a crossroads.

Mother didn't know that his heritage would come back to haunt him, that it would turn out to be cursed. Father – or at least, the father he had heard of – had been equal parts joyful and heartbroken to know that he had borne a son with the woman he loved. It was not a burden he had wanted to shackle his progeny with, and yet,

And yet, mother had said, you can be selfish. It's not your fault.

She had not known yet what father had felt so guilty for.

When her kingdom had been razed to the ground and she had fled, child in arms, Lord Sumeragi had welcomed them both with nothing but love and warmth in his heart. He took him as his own, dandled him on the same lap as he did Ryouma and Hinoka and Takumi and little Sakura, taught him with the same worn-out bokken that his father used when instructing him with the sword, and, when he was sad or frightened, would sneak him out of their room to indulge in a late night snack or stargaze on the highest roof of the castle.

He remembered one such night, when Sumeragi held his chubby little hand and led him through Shirasagi's labyrinthian wooden hallways. He had held a finger to his lips conspiratorially as he slid the room's shoji open with a quiet rustle.

"See that? That's our family tree," Sumeragi had explained. "It goes all the way back to the time of the Dawn Dragon, our oldest ancestor. I've commissioned new additions to it, and I wasn't expecting to show anyone until tomorrow's ceremony – but you know what? You can take a peek at it. You before anyone else. It can be our little secret."

It was a magnificent cherry tree that branched out in hundreds of directions along the enormous expanse of rice paper it occupied. To his young eyes, it didn't even look like it was made of ink. Every leaf and twig appeared to breathe and float, and the mighty dragon nestled at the tree's summit even seemed to gaze benevolently upon his own amazed eyes before turning to blow at a stray petal playfully.

"Look closely. At the bottom." Sumeragi had taken his finger gently and used it as a pointer as he skimmed down the trunk down to the newest roots.

Under a particularly fat root labelled "Shinnōke," a longer offshoot trailed off. Kokuō Heika Sumeragi was connected to Joō Heika Ikona through a smaller root: below them, four sprouts read Denka Ryouma, Denka Hinoka, Denka Takumi, Denka Sakura. To Sumeragi's left, a second branch read Joō Heika Mikoto. The youngest root linked between them said, in the loveliest calligraphy he had ever seen, Denka Kamui.

Sumeragi had gazed upon him with such fondness, with such love, that he had tucked away the scrap of the memory close to his heart, to always remember with longing and affection. "Never forget Kamui: we all love you very very much."

He hadn't been able to recall it until much later, he mused.

He had been taken shortly after his sixth birthday. Sumeragi had brought him along to the summit in Cheve, as a birthday treat, and to formally present his newest son to the foreign courtiers in attendance. The last he remembered of his stepfather was of him facedown in a bloody puddle, as the dark claws of an onyx gauntlet stretched over his hazy, terrified vision.

Adjusting to life in Nohr had been hard. He had cried too much, too easily, and the gloomy climate and harsh standards of the court did little to lift his spirits. A disgusted Garon had sent him away to live in the Northern Fortress on the condition to stay there until he had been proven strong enough to return. "No son of mine will grow a weakling," the king had scoffed.

It had been infinitely better to know that, the very least, he always had allies in Castle Krakenburg.

From the moment he had arrived, Garon's brood – stern Marx, motherly Camilla, bookish Leo, and sweet Elise — had taken to him like ducks to water. They told him, one night they had shared under a bedsheet, lit by a lamp, that they all had different mothers. Garon had delighted in pitting them against one another, yet his baiting and teasing had gone too far as a bloodbath ensued until, soon enough, his remaining children only had their father. When they had seen him, pitiful and ragged and alone in a foreign court, they had undertaken a grand mission to nurture and protect him themselves. Never again would a child be left in need within the walls of Krakenburg, they vowed.

"Of course, he's not a very good father. He's absent a lot; you'll get used to it soon," Leo had spoken around a mouthful of scone they had stolen from the larder.

"He is not a bad father," Marx scolded. Even as a teenager, his eyes were always lined and taut. "He's just a very busy man. We can't expect him to preoccupy himself with our needs when the needs of the kingdom come first."

"Even so, it does get a bit lonely here," Camilla had twirled a lock of hair around her finger thoughtfully. "But we all have each other, at least. And you'll never be alone, pet. You'll always have us to call upon whenever you're in want of something. We all love you very very much, Corrin. Don't you forget that."

A week after his transfer to the fortress, they had all flounced into his barely broken in sitting room. He had been so melancholy after his departure that their sudden appearance, with a bevy of servants and gifts, had him wondering if it was a product of his affection-starved brain.

"Jakob, Flora, and Felicia are new in service to Nohr. I trust they will be up to snuff and will serve you accordingly," Marx introduced the servants as he ran a critical eye over the room's drab furnishings.

"And we do hope that the decorations are to your liking, dear. Goodness knows this place needs a tune-up," Camilla had fussed and clucked over the moth-eaten rugs and mouldy crockery even as she had directed the small army of maids and butlers to do the cleaning.

"Yeah! We brought lots of presents!" Elise squealed excitedly, tugging on his arm and leading him towards the terrace of his tower. "Leo said that the books are the best but Leo doesn't know what he's talking about because this one is clearly better!" She had thrown open the doors to reveal the best sunlight he had seen in ages, and his guard, Gunter, unrolling a long tapestry.

It was beautifully woven, with gold thread winking and sparkling in the light among the dragons and wolves dancing amongst the giant tree that dominated the tapestry. Precious stones lined the edge, and the tree seemed to breathe vaguely with each second passed. The Dusk Dragon yawned lazily from its perch at the top, and a half-forgotten memory stirred his heart as he raced to the hem with a finger extended.

König Garon Tarnis, Römischer was also linked to two queens on either side: Königin Katerina Augusta yielded a fine golden thread that ended in Kurfürst Marxandros Friedrich von Nestra. The other, Königin Shenmei ("we always called her Arete," Leo would explain many years later) bore the much simpler styled Azura at the bottom. Below Garon, many other names of women and children were embroidered, but the ones that stood out to him were Großherzogin Camilla Beatrix Šemberová, Großfürst Leon Antoninus, Großfürstin Elise Theresia von Krakenburg Faustina. Joining them, with threading that was equally gorgeous, if not more obviously hastily stitched, was Corrin von Krakenburg.

"Let's see those smug nobles try and say anything now that you've got a proper tree," Leo had said proudly as Gunter and Jakob had hung the heavy tapestry over the hearth.

He loved his families dearly, for accepting him as he was and incorporating him into their lines without a second thought. They had cared for him, nurtured him as they would a full-blooded relative, and had proven their devotion several times over.

And yet, when the war had raged, the roots of the trees seemed more determined to strangle him than hold him upright. The conflict had pitted his siblings against each other in a bloodthirsty rage, each deadset on overpowering the other until they could reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and sink him back into their bloodied soil for all eternity.

You're ours! He had remembered them screaming to him from across battlefields of slain soldiers. Come back to us!

His duality as Corrin and Kamui had tormented him even in nightmares. Choosing one family over the other was a choice that was nigh unthinkable, not to mention one that would have never cropped up in the circumstances of other families. Of other loving, more stable units.

Azura never had such a luxury growing up. When they lay in bed together, he would sometimes trace the scar left over by a ferocious beating she had received at the hands of some of Garon's other children during her stint in Nohr. If she was willing, she would recount the many times she had sheltered herself in Mikoto's quarters when she had to clean the scratches left over from the rocks thrown her way, or when she needed to cry out of the sheer loneliness and craving for attention she had felt.

"What a pair we make," she remarked, lacing their hands together during such a night. "You, the golden prince of Nohr and Hoshido, loved by everyone he encounters, able to charm even the most stubborn of men. And me, the ugly duckling, spurned by everyone in sight, leaving a trail of salted earth in her wake." The wry twist of her lips drove a knife of sadness into his heart.

"Don't say that, love." He pressed a soothing kiss to her brow and smoothed back her gorgeous pale blue hair. "It's not true. Everyone I know adores you."

"And if they're lying?" she teased.

"Then I guess they'd better bring a bedroll for a night in the dungeons then."

"You're not nearly as cruel," Azura laughed, pulling him closer and fixing the warm duvet over their bodies. "If anything, you'd want to get them alone for a one-on-one and try to convince them to join you on some hare-brained do-gooders' scheme."

"See, even I don't know myself as nearly as well as you do," he chuckled and stroked her cheek. He suddenly fell silent, and shifted in bed to contemplate the ceiling pensively with Azura's hand resting on his chest.

The lamplight was low, and they lay like that for a long time. She was close to dozing off until the rumbling of his chest roused her. "I never would have really found out much about myself in the first place had it not been for you."

Azura shifted until her elbow lay firmly upon the mattress, her hand cupping her cheek for support. It wasn't rare for her husband to want to pour his heart and soul out to others – in fact, it was one of his traits that was so endearing to most, yet equally dangerous when exposed to the wrong people – but for him to speak so severely was born of the deep-seated sadness and insecurity he still felt over the issue of his ancestry and inheritance. She could never fault him for it; despite the war having been placed firmly in the realm of the past, it was still one of the bloodiest conflicts the continent had seen in decades, and memories and nightmares still remained to torment him. He was still unable to forgive himself for putting his siblings in a danger that was not his fault.

Worse still was the even more recent knowledge of his biological father's identity. The encounter had left him quite literally scarred in more ways than one. And yet he was so insistent on putting on a cheery face for everyone else's sake.

"I know Yukimura said he would help us go over the scrolls and records in the library later this week," he pursed his lips nervously, "but I can't help but wonder."

"Shigure turned out just fine. And remember what Lilith said? She was spawned from Anankos himself, to no ill effect."

"Still...there's too much we don't know. And Shigure...Shigure didn't inherit too much of my father's blood."

Azura pulled his chin gently until he was facing her. There was still such pain in his gaze, and she kissed his brow and his nose and his lips until a smile finally pulled his lips up and dispelled part of the cloud that had begun to form over their bed.

"No one said we have to figure out everything in one go; let's not be too hasty. We have everyone here to help us, and if they're away, then I don't think it'll be too much of a bother to simply ask when they have time to spare. You've done so much for everyone else; they won't mind at all."

"Still –" he tried to interrupt.

"No," Azura cupped his face within her hands, cradling it and looking deep into his eyes. Yellow had always paired well with red, and tonight was no exception. "Never in all my years of knowing you, and loving you, dancing for you, singing for you, bearing your banner and your children, have I ever seen you even think of falling to your father's level. You may be a dragon, but your heart is made of stronger stuff than you think. Anankos had nobody to love until your mother –no one could have helped the degeneration of his heart by then. But you have us, darling. You have Hoshido, Nohr, and your kingdom and your family and your friends. We have the entire future to look forward to with you by our side. Your roots are important, yes, but they will never come to define you as much as you have chosen to define yourself with your actions.

And that is why everyone loves you. Because you give us so much love in return. So, please remember this," she kissed his lips again. "and never forget it."

The following day, he and Azura were dressed in their formal state regalia, preparing to receive the families of Nohr, Hoshido, Notra Sagesse and Mokushu, among others, in the throne room. Their eldest, Shigure, had miraculously kept his clothing neat while his baby sister cried and rumpled her white, blue and yellow blessing gown. Lilith kept trying to fix it, only to give up when the infant blew an ill-tempered raspberry at her face. "That's definitely not from either of you," his half-sister had grumbled.

"Father, we have to be quiet now," Shigure whispered much too seriously for his age. His mother had only smiled and combed his long blue fringe away from his eyes as people began to file into the large room.

After the banquet, they found themselves in their personal study with his siblings and nephews and nieces. Shinonome had taken it upon himself to hoist tiny Foleo on his shoulders to reach a book he wanted to read, while Shigure had very self-importantly began to teach Siegbert, Kisaragi, and Éponine the finer points of drawing a horse (which looked more like a lopsided dog, to be honest). Mitama had secluded herself with Matoi and Ignatius under a desk to gossip, and the general atmosphere was of good-natured chaos.

"We have to be well behaved now, son. Your uncle Kamui's going to show us something very important," Ryouma warned as he straightened out Shinonome's collar.

"Not another speech!" Kisaragi whined. Sakura rubbed his shoulder sympathetically while Benoit tried to wrangle Ignatius back out from under the desk.

"Not quite," Azura explained while her husband fiddled with the curtains hiding some of the panelling from their guests. "But it might take a bit of explaining from your parents - it's a bit long."

When the curtains dropped, the adults oohed and aahhed appreciatively, rather touched by what they saw. A few of the children had to have it explained to them patiently. Yet, no one could deny the magnitude of the gesture displayed before them, for it was obvious that what lay before them was an obvious labour of love and hard work.

The trees from the Vallite king's youth had been reproduced in two faithful copies, Hoshido's to the left and Nohr's to the right. Between them lay the painstaking attempt to restore Valla's royal history, the result of several hundred hours spent with Azura, Yukimura, and Azama to create a record that was not only historically accurate, but beautiful enough to rival its Nohrian and Hoshidan counterparts. The cream coloured parchment was embossed with bright gold and turquoise accents, with the faint motifs of water lilies and fish swimming serenely between the roots and branches of the tree that stretched out with hundreds of names.

The dragon Anankos had curled his body between the foliage and rested peacefully on the paper; below him, Mahārāja Kadros was spelled out clearly in green-blue ink. Nearing the bottom, Mahārāni Shenmei was linked toPatnī Eynar Kalder, leading down toMahārāni Azura Dike. Her husband's name rested below his parents: Rāṇī Mikoto had the simply put Anankos and the more formally styled Rājā Sumeragi no-Õ-Taiyō both connected to her and their son. Mahārāja Kamui Corrin no Tōma had slim, golden threads stretching delicately to the tapestries of Nohr and Hoshido, bridging the gap between them through his own lineage. The root that supported him and Azura led to Mahārājkumar Shigure Tanwar Das, with the latest addition being Mahārājkumari Kanna Solvi.