Lissa & Vaike

Five Years

"Get back here, ya rascal!" Vaike roared with a grin, clambering up the side of the hell with his arms stretched out before him. "Gods, this kid runs fast… Hey, Lissa, you back there?"

In truth, Lissa was struggling to keep up. She slowed to a jog, then stopped in her tracks, bending over to rest her hands on her knees.

"Owain! Get back here!" she yelled, though she made no effort to keep chase.

The boy's stumpy legs seemed to be going a mile a minute, his hands hovering out beside him, his golden hair glimmering in the light of the afternoon sun.

"Crivens!" Vaike grunted, stumbling over a branch. He regained his balance just in time, stumbling forward, and lunged towards his son. "Owain, come to Papa!"

Owain skipped ahead only faster, giggling to himself.

"Stupid Risen! You'll never ever catch me!" he shouted to himself, hopping forward with both legs pounding against the grass. His boots were wrecked and slathered in mud.

If Lissa didn't have a heart attack by the end of this ordeal, Vaike's mother sure would.

"Owain!" Vaike yelled once more, his voice booming and, for once, totally devoid of jest.

The little boy ran a few more metres, but when he came to the top of the hill, he came to a sliding, abrupt halt.

Vaike took the chance, taking his son by the shoulders and pulling him towards him.

"Hey! Look at me! You gotta stop runnin' off like that, runt! Look at your mum, she's darn worried," he turned Owain around manually to face him, and to his surprise found his son on the verge of tears.

Owain's lip quivered, his brows knit.

"Woah! Hey, hey! What's wrong, kiddo? Hey, you ain't gonna bawl on me are ya?"

The youth shook his head rapidly, but all the same rubbed his eyes. He flexed his hand and look down at it gloomily.

"I forgot it!" he cried.

Vaike placed a hand firmly on his son's head. "Wha?"

"I lost Misslyton! I lost it! It's not here!"

"Misslyton? What the—oh, you mean your darn sword," Vaike groaned, remembering the wooden sword that he'd crafted for him months earlier. Lissa had strongly disapproved, but it had made Owain so happy that she didn't really mind after a while. He had read through—or rather, had his mother read—so many books about Jugdrali legend that he'd named his sword after that of the descendants of Hezul, Mysteltainn.

Vaike and Lissa both had been surprised at the proclamation—something about his "first weapon-naming" had brought Lissa to tears. It must have reminded her of the older Owain, who'd since gone off on a grand adventure with his own wife.

"Where'd you leave it, runt?"

"I'unno. Somewhere," he muttered.

"On the ground?"

"I'unno." He shrugged, his face going crimson and tears welling up in his eyes. "I lost it. I can't protect you anymore, Papa! I'm sorry!" The gentle slur of his babyish voice merged all words together; a string of murmurs muffled even more so by the sobs he was attempting to stifle.

"Hey, what's that about? Listen t' me, kiddo," Vaike held him by the shoulders at arms length, kneeling down to his level, and grinned his usual, youthful grin. "You know who's kid you are?"

"Teach!"

"You're damn right. You're Teach's kid. And you know what Teach did when he went to fight?"

"Beat the baddies. Protected Mama and stuff."

"Right again! You know what I did it with?" he leaned in closer, as if sharing his deepest, darkest secret.

"An axe?"

"Sometimes," Vaike chortled. "But more often than not, your dad forgot his axe back at camp, and I'd have to borrow a bow or somethin' from one of my teammates! Sometimes I'd make axes outta rocks and sticks!"

"No. Way," the sheer look of awe on Owain's face was priceless. "You didn't! Papa, you're lying!"

"I ain't! I forgot stuff all the time! I almost lost the axe your mum gave me the day before we beat the hell outta the Fell Dragon. Didja know that?"

"Nah-uh. But you still protected everyone, huh?"

"That's right. I never lost a fight—Not one. So how about I teach ya to make your own swords outta sticks and rocks?" He tousled Owain's hair, which, scruffy and unruly, was doused in sweat.

"Yeah! A-And I'll name 'em all! A-And I can make special moves for 'em, huh? Can we?" Owain pulled away from his father's grasp, too excited to be held down. He paced around in circles, eyes wide with excitement.

Lissa came clambering up the hill, panting loudly.

"Oh gods…I thought I was done with the running," she muttered, holding her back. She was still so small and petite, yet the way her husband and son would shoot off without her, leaving her to worry after them, sometimes made her feel decades older. "Vaike! You got him!"

She suddenly regained all the energy she had lost, and scooped up the little boy in her arms. She planted kisses on his dirty face and hugged him tightly.

"Stupid boy! Don't you dare run off on your own like that! Do you have any idea how worried I was!?"

"I was goin' to go spar with Gerome," Owain muttered innocently. "Sorry, Ma."

"That's all right, baby." She set him down, brushing down his dusty shoulders and arms. "Look at you! You're filthy!"

"I think he looks okay," Vaike mused, raising an eyebrow. "He's clean as a whistle. Don't even smell, ain't that right, boy?"

"Right! Pa was gonna show me how to make swords outta dirt, and then we're gonna go to Gerome's house or maybe Brady's and get Lucina and Morgan and Laurent and we might invite Kjelle but she's scary good at training a-and we're gonna come up with so many different moves and I'm gonna name them all because Gerome's no good at it and Morgan's not old enough to come up with good names like me and—"

"Woah, hey there, tyke, let's not get too excited."

"Oh, you are, are you? Not before you come home and take a long bath, you're not! You're so gross, Owain. Why can't you be a nice, clean little boy like Laurent? Kellam keeps him so tidy."

"Who?"

"Laurent's father, dear. Anyway, since you gave me a heart attack this morning, you owe me! Both of you!" Lissa stood up straight and crossed her arms.

Vaike stepped back, turning up his nose.

"Me? Whadd'd I do!?" he groaned.

"You're filling his head with all these theatrics! The last thing we need is more trouble with the neighbours. Remember last time?" she sighed in an attempt to look disappointed, though the smile turning the corners of her mouth up betrayed her.

"I swear I didn't know those chickens were real, Ma," Owain mumbled.

"Naw, the guys in town love little Owain! He's Teach's son, after all," Vaike prodded his chest with his thumb proudly, pointing to himself.

"I suppose so," Lissa breathed. "But—hey! I'm pretty sure being a prince of Ylisse is a little more impressive than being your son."

"I'd say it's equally important. Hey, who won the last sixteen duals with Chrom? Huh? Who was it?"

"Not important! He was worried that day because Morgan was sick!"

Owain leant back and watched his parents squabble, a grin pasted on his pasty face.

When he got to Gerome's house, he'd have to look for Mysteltainn, if not because it was his first sword, then because it was the sword his parents had given to him, and it was the sword that he'd protect them with.

Haven't updated in a while, but I was pretty inspired by a four-year-old kid I saw on the train one day. Let's just say his animated personality and his very nonchalant father triggered some sort of parallel between two of my favourite Fe:A characters.

I may move on from Lissa & Vaike, even though I love them so much, because I just can't think of how to continue them. If you've read this and would like to see your favourite character in the next issue, feel free to drop a name in the reviews!

Thanks as always, guys!