Double Blessings
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the castle's planning chamber as Lucina carefully reviewed the seating arrangements for Lissa's wedding celebration. Her hand rested unconsciously on her still-modest belly, a gesture that had become increasingly natural over the past few weeks. Across the ornate table, Lissa herself was engaged in animated discussion with Maribelle about flower arrangements, while Odyn stood quietly nearby, his keen elven eyes scanning the various documents with typical thoroughness.
"The Sacaean delegation will need to be seated with consideration for their cultural protocols," Odyn noted, his melodic accent adding gravity to the practical observation. "Roy's people value hierarchical respect in formal gatherings."
"Thallion," Lissa corrected automatically, though with a fond smile. "When we're discussing his elven heritage, remember? Though honestly, I still slip up sometimes myself."
Lucina looked up from her papers, noting the slight tension in her sister-in-law's voice. The complexities of intercultural marriage were something she understood intimately, having navigated similar challenges with Odyn. "The adjustment takes time," she said gently. "Even now, I sometimes forget which customs apply in which situations."
"At least your husband's people aren't quite so... formal about everything," Lissa sighed, gesturing at the extensive protocol documents spread before them. "Did you know they have specific traditional blessings for each course of the wedding feast? And the flower combinations have to follow ancient symbolic meanings?"
"Elven traditions often carry deeper significance than appears on the surface," Odyn offered diplomatically. "Perhaps Roy—Thallion—could explain the reasoning behind each element? Understanding the meaning often makes compliance more natural."
Before Lissa could respond, a soft knock interrupted their planning session. The midwife, Cordelia, entered with an apologetic smile. "Forgive the interruption, but I need to speak with Princess Lucina about her recent examination."
Lucina felt a flutter of nervousness. Her appointment the previous day had been routine—or so she'd assumed. "Is something wrong?"
"On the contrary," Cordelia said, her expression shifting to barely contained excitement. "The results of your examination revealed something quite remarkable. Would you prefer to discuss this privately, or...?"
"Whatever it is, they can hear it," Lucina decided, gesturing to the assembled group. Odyn moved closer, his hand finding her shoulder in a gesture of support.
Cordelia's smile broadened. "Your Highness, you're carrying twins."
The silence that followed was profound. Lucina felt the world tilt slightly, her carefully maintained composure cracking as the implications hit her. "Twins?" she repeated weakly.
"Twins," Cordelia confirmed. "The positioning during your early examinations made it difficult to detect, but as they've grown, it's become clear. Two distinct heartbeats, two separate magical auras—though one is significantly stronger than the other."
Odyn's hand tightened on her shoulder, and she could feel the slight tremor that ran through him despite his outward calm. "Are... are they healthy?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"Perfectly healthy, as far as I can determine," Cordelia assured them. "Though this does change some of our planning. Twin pregnancies can be more demanding, and we'll need to adjust your activities accordingly."
Lissa had dropped her flower samples, staring at Lucina with wide eyes. "Twins! Oh, Lucina, that's wonderful! Though..." She paused, practical considerations clearly occurring to her. "That does complicate things, doesn't it?"
"In some ways," Lucina managed, her mind racing through the implications. Two babies meant double the preparation, double the responsibility, double the vulnerability. But also double the joy, double the hope, double the future they were building.
"The stronger magical signature," Odyn said quietly, "would that be...?"
"Likely the one carrying the Brand," Cordelia confirmed. "It's quite remarkable, actually. I've never seen such a clear distinction in magical potential so early in development. One child appears to have inherited significant magical capacity, while the other shows more... shall we say, balanced attributes."
Lucina's thoughts immediately went to the names they'd discussed—Lumi and Lumin, meaning light in ancient elven. Now they would need both, it seemed. "A son and daughter?" she asked.
"Too early to determine that with certainty," Cordelia admitted. "But given the distinctly different magical signatures, it's quite possible. The one with the Brand feels... familiar, somehow. Almost as if I've encountered that particular resonance before."
A chill ran down Lucina's spine. In their original timeline, she had carried the Brand. If one of these children bore it as well... "What does that mean for them? For their futures?"
"That remains to be seen," Cordelia said gently. "But I suspect these children will be quite remarkable, regardless of the specifics."
After Cordelia left, promising to return with more detailed guidance for twin pregnancies, the planning chamber fell into contemplative silence. Lissa was the first to speak, her voice filled with barely contained excitement.
"This is perfect!" she declared. "My wedding will be the celebration before the next generation arrives! Oh, we'll have to make sure the timing works out—I want to be back from the honeymoon before they're born."
"Lissa," Maribelle said with fond exasperation, "perhaps we should focus on one celebration at a time?"
But Lucina was thinking about the implications beyond timing. Two children meant two different paths, two different destinies. If one carried the Brand, they would face expectations and responsibilities that the other might not. The thought of her children experiencing the weight she had carried since childhood made her stomach clench with more than morning sickness.
"We'll need to expand the nursery," Odyn said practically, though his eyes betrayed the same mix of excitement and concern that Lucina felt. "And perhaps consult with elven midwives about twin deliveries. The healing techniques might be beneficial."
"And names," Lissa added with a grin. "You can't just add 'a' to the end of one of them and call it even."
Despite her swirling emotions, Lucina found herself smiling. "Lumi and Lumin still work," she said softly. "Light and illumination. Both beautiful, both meaningful."
"Both elven," Odyn added with quiet satisfaction. "Though we should consider human naming traditions as well. These children will bridge both worlds."
As they returned to the wedding planning, Lucina found her mind splitting between seating charts and the overwhelming reality of her situation. Two babies. Two futures to protect and nurture. Two chances to give her children the peaceful childhood she had never known.
"The timing is actually quite fortuitous," Maribelle observed, reviewing the calendar. "If the births occur when expected, the children will be old enough to travel by the time of the spring diplomatic season."
"Assuming I'm permitted to travel," Lucina said dryly. "Something tells me I'll be facing increased... protective oversight."
Odyn's expression remained neutral, but she caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested her prediction was accurate. "Your safety and that of the children will be our primary concern," he said diplomatically.
"Our?" Lucina raised an eyebrow.
"The Shepherds have already begun discussing additional security measures," Lissa confessed with a sheepish grin. "Frederick has been consulting with Cordelia about... protective protocols for expectant mothers."
The thought of Frederick applying his legendary thoroughness to pregnancy safety made Lucina both grateful and slightly terrified. "I shudder to imagine what that conversation produced."
"A seventeen-page document with detailed contingency plans," Odyn admitted. "Including provisions for emergency evacuation routes from every room in the castle."
"Of course there are," Lucina sighed, though warmth spread through her chest at the evidence of how much they were all cared for. This was what she had fought for—not just the prevention of apocalypse, but the creation of a world where such loving concern was possible.
As the afternoon wore on, their planning session evolved into something more intimate. Stories were shared about their own childhoods, hopes expressed for the next generation, and practical concerns addressed with the characteristic thoroughness that had served them so well in darker times.
When Lissa mentioned her nervousness about the cultural complexities of her upcoming marriage, Lucina found herself offering advice drawn from her own experience navigating two worlds. When Odyn quietly expressed concern about protecting children who might face extraordinary destinies, Lissa reassured him with tales of how the Shepherds had always protected their own.
By evening, the wedding plans had been refined to accommodate the new reality of Lucina's condition, and both women felt more confident about the challenges ahead. As they prepared to part ways, Lissa embraced her soon to be niece with unusual gentleness.
"I'm so happy for you," she whispered. "These children are going to be so loved, so protected. They'll never know the fear we grew up with."
Lucina returned the embrace, feeling the truth of those words settle in her heart. "And your children will grow up knowing their aunt and uncle's love as well. We're building something beautiful here, aren't we?"
"The most beautiful thing of all," Odyn agreed softly. "A future worth having."
As they walked back to their chambers, Lucina's hand once again found her belly, now carrying not just her hopes but double the miracle she had never dared to imagine. Two children who would grow up in peace, surrounded by love, protected by the strongest warriors in two worlds, and blessed with the chance to choose their own destinies.
The future stretched before them, bright with possibility and grounded in the love that had made it all possible. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—as they always had, as they always would.
And in the quiet moments before sleep, Lucina whispered names into the darkness—Lumi and Lumin, light and illumination, the twin hopes of a world reborn.
An Army of Aunts and Uncles
Word of Lucina's twin pregnancy spread through Ylisstol Castle with the efficiency of a military campaign—which, given that most of the residents were either tacticians or had spent years perfecting information networks, was perhaps inevitable. By the following morning, Lucina found herself facing what could only be described as a coordinated assault of helpfulness.
It began innocuously enough. She had just finished a modified morning routine (walking the garden paths instead of sword practice, per Odyn's gentle but non-negotiable insistence) when she encountered Nygel in the courtyard, his tactical mind clearly already at work.
"Lucina," he called out, approaching with the same focused intensity he brought to battle planning. "I've been analyzing the logistical requirements for twin care, and I believe we need to establish a support rotation system."
Before she could respond, Severa appeared from seemingly nowhere, her expression mixing determination with barely concealed excitement. "Don't listen to him—he'll turn baby care into a military exercise. What you actually need is someone who understands fashion and presentation. Those twins are going to be the best-dressed babies in both timelines."
"Fashion is hardly the priority—" Nygel began, but was interrupted by the arrival of Vienne, whose half-dark elven heritage had given her an ethereal grace that somehow made her presence both calming and commanding.
"Peace, both of you," she said with gentle authority. "Lucina needs practical support, not arguments." She turned to Lucina with a slight smile. "My mother's people have extensive knowledge of caring for multiple births. I would be honored to share that wisdom."
The gathering grew larger as more of the future children appeared, seemingly drawn by some invisible signal. Kiera approached with her characteristic directness, her dark elven features serious. "Frederick has been training me in advanced protective protocols. Your children will have the finest security arrangements possible."
"Security arrangements for babies?" Lucina asked weakly, though she was beginning to recognize the futility of resistance.
"Of course," came a dual response from Cade and Karrin, who had arrived together as they often did. The half-dark elf twins exchanged a look that spoke of private communication before Cade continued, "We understand the unique challenges of raising multiples."
"And the benefits," Karrin added with a grin. "Built-in sparring partners, shared responsibilities, and someone who always understands your perspective."
Ellie materialized next to them with the silent grace inherited from her dark elven mother, though her father Gaius's influence showed in the small bag of sweets she carried. "Sugar helps with everything," she announced solemnly, offering the bag to Lucina. "Dad's been experimenting with nutritional supplements for expectant mothers."
The arrival of Laurent brought a welcome note of scholarly calm to the growing chaos. His half-elven heritage had given him his mother Miriel's intellectual intensity combined with an elven appreciation for long-term planning. "I've been researching the historical precedents for Brand inheritance in multiple births," he announced, producing a stack of texts. "The patterns are fascinating, though inconsistent."
"Perhaps we could focus on more immediate concerns?" Brady suggested, his usually rough manner softened by genuine care. His half-elven features carried an interesting blend of refinement and earthiness. "Ma—Maribelle—has been teaching me about proper prenatal care. Classical music, herbal teas, that sort of thing."
Eldin, whose dark elven heritage had given him an otherworldly intensity, nodded seriously. "Magical resonance during development can be influenced by environmental factors. I could help establish protective wards around your quarters."
"That's actually not a terrible idea," Astrid admitted, her dark elf mother's practical nature showing through. "Though maybe less 'protective wards' and more 'comfortable environment.' Dad always said the best defense is feeling secure where you are."
The arrival of Noire, Inigo, Kjelle, and Cynthia—the four Lucina had confided in at the bathhouse—brought familiar faces to the growing assembly. They exchanged meaningful looks before Kjelle stepped forward as their unofficial spokesperson.
"We've already established our intentions to be involved," she announced firmly. "But it seems we'll have plenty of company."
"The more the merrier!" Cynthia declared, her pegasus knight enthusiasm undimmed by the crowd. "Think of all the flying lessons we'll be able to provide! Though we'll start with basic balance exercises, naturally."
Inigo swept forward with an elaborate bow, his half-elven grace making the gesture seem perfectly natural rather than theatrical. "Music and dance are essential to proper development," he declared. "I shall compose lullabies that blend human and elven traditions."
"And I'll handle the practical magical education," Grimm added quietly, his half-elven features carrying an intensity inherited from both Henry and his elven mother Syll. "Assuming the children show aptitude, of course."
The arrival of Caelian and Mireya, the half-elven children of Priam and Verlaine, added another set of twins to the growing assembly. They moved with coordinated precision that spoke of years fighting together.
"Combat training," Caelian announced simply.
"When they're ready," Mireya clarified, shooting her brother a warning look. "Much later. After they can actually walk."
Nah approached with the careful dignity that marked her unique heritage as part dark elf and part manakete. "I understand the challenges of mixed heritage," she said softly. "If your children inherit... unusual abilities, I can help them understand what that means."
The arrival of Takeo and Midori, Baron and Say'ri's half-elven children, brought expertise from yet another cultural tradition. "Eastern philosophies of child-rearing emphasize balance and harmony," Takeo offered formally. "We would be honored to share those teachings."
"And the practical applications of meditation and focus," Midori added with a slight smile. "Useful skills for any child, but especially those born to leadership."
Owain's dramatic entrance was exactly what everyone expected, his half-dark elven heritage somehow making his theatrical nature seem even more pronounced. "Behold!" he declared, striking a pose. "The sacred sword-hand shall protect the newest scions of destiny! Though perhaps we should focus on rattles before blade-work."
"Definitely rattles first," Gerome agreed dryly, his more grounded nature providing a counterpoint to Owain's enthusiasm. "I can handle the practical carpentry—cribs, toys, furniture. Whatever you need built."
"And I can provide insights into... alternative perspectives," Yarne offered hesitantly, his taguel heritage making him naturally cautious in groups. "Sometimes seeing the world differently is valuable."
The final addition to their impromptu assembly was perhaps the most significant—present-timeline Morvaeighn, Chrom and Sarai's second child, currently being held in his mother's arms as she approached the group. Though still an infant himself, his presence represented the bridge between timelines, the living proof of the better world they had created.
"It seems," Sarai said with gentle amusement, "that your children will have no shortage of devoted family members."
Lucina looked around at the assembled faces—so many of them bearing the mixed heritage that spoke of the complex, interconnected world they had built from the ashes of their original timeline. Human, elven, dark elven, manakete, taguel—all united in their determination to protect and nurture the next generation.
"This is..." she began, then stopped, overwhelmed by the magnitude of support being offered.
"Excessive?" Odyn suggested quietly, though his tone carried warmth rather than criticism.
"Wonderful," Lucina corrected firmly. "Overwhelming, certainly, but wonderful." She looked around the group again, her voice strengthening. "In our original timeline, we grew up too fast, alone in our struggles despite being together. These children—my children—will know from birth that they are cherished, protected, and supported by the most remarkable family anyone could ask for."
"So you accept our help?" Severa asked, her usual snark tempered by genuine emotion.
"How could I refuse?" Lucina replied with a laugh. "Though I reserve the right to establish some organizational structure. With this many volunteers, we'll need coordination to avoid chaos."
"I can create duty rosters," Nygel offered immediately.
"And I can design appropriate training schedules," Kjelle added.
"Age-appropriate training schedules," Mireya corrected firmly.
As the group began enthusiastically planning their collective involvement in the twins' upbringing, Lucina felt a profound sense of completion. This was what they had fought for—not just the prevention of apocalypse, but the creation of a world where children could grow up surrounded by love, diversity, and unlimited possibility.
The future stretched before them, bright with the promise of two small lives that would never know the fear or loss that had defined their parents' early years. Instead, they would know abundance—of love, protection, guidance, and family in every sense of the word.
In that moment, surrounded by the chaotic planning of her extended family, Lucina felt that perhaps this truly was her greatest victory: not the battles won or disasters prevented, but the simple, extraordinary gift of giving her children a childhood worthy of the peace they had all fought to create.
As the enthusiastic planning continued around her, Lucina's attention was drawn to a smaller figure at the edge of the gathering. There, holding tightly to Chrom's hand, stood Lilina—the present timeline's version of herself, given a new name to allow both versions to exist in this strange, wonderful world they had created.
The sight struck Lucina with unexpected force. Here was herself as she might have been—a child who had grown up with her father's love, who knew Chrom not as a distant memory but as a living, present parent. Lilina's blue hair caught the sunlight as she tilted her head up, studying the older version of herself with the innocent curiosity of a child trying to understand something complex.
"Papa," Lilina whispered, her small voice carrying in the momentary lull of conversation, "why does the big me keep touching her stomach like that?"
Chrom's expression softened as he knelt to his daughter's level, his eyes meeting Lucina's over the child's head. In that shared glance was acknowledgment of the peculiar miracle of their situation—a father who had lost his daughter to time and war, now blessed with the chance to raise her again, while that same daughter stood before him as a grown woman carrying the next generation.
"Because," Chrom said gently, his voice thick with emotion, "she's going to have babies soon. When people are having babies, they like to... keep them close, even before they're born."
Lilina's eyes widened with understanding and excitement. "Like how Mama keeps baby Morvaeighn close?"
"Exactly like that," Sarai confirmed, shifting her sleeping infant son to better observe the touching scene. Her expression held a complex mix of emotions—joy for her sister-in-law's happiness, protective love for her own children, and perhaps a trace of the surreal wonder that never quite faded when confronting the reality of their blended timelines.
Lucina felt tears prick her eyes as she watched this other version of herself—innocent, protected, loved in ways she had never experienced. This was what she had fought for, what they had all sacrificed for. Not just the prevention of apocalypse, but the preservation of childhood itself.
"Can I..." Lilina began hesitantly, then looked up at her father for permission. "Can I say hello to the babies?"
The gathering fell silent, all eyes turning to this tender moment between past and future, between what was lost and what was found. Lucina felt her throat tighten with emotion as she nodded, kneeling down to bring herself closer to the child's level.
"They're very little still," Lucina said softly, her voice barely steady. "But I think they would like to meet you."
With the careful solemnity that children bring to important moments, Lilina approached and gently placed her small hand next to Lucina's on her belly. The contact was feather-light, reverent, as if she understood instinctively that she was touching something precious.
"Hello, little babies," Lilina whispered seriously. "I'm... I'm your..." She paused, her young mind clearly struggling with the complex relationships involved.
"You're their aunt," Chrom said gently. "A very special aunt."
"I'm your Aunt Lilina," the child continued with renewed confidence. "And I'm going to help take care of you when you're born. I know lots about babies because I help Mama with Morvaeighn."
The moment stretched, profound in its simplicity. Around them, the future children—now young adults who had endured apocalypse and emerged as heroes—watched with expressions of wonder and joy. Their parents, too, observed this scene that represented everything they had fought to achieve.
Sarai approached quietly, her maternal instincts recognizing the significance of the moment. "Lilina," she said softly, "would you like to help us plan for when the babies come?"
The child's face lit up with delight. "Can I? Can I help pick out blankets? And toys? And teach them games?"
"All of those things," Lucina confirmed, her voice breaking slightly. "You can help with everything."
As Lilina chattered excitedly about all the ways she would help her future nieces or nephews, Lucina caught sight of the assembled group around them. The future children stood with their parents—the Shepherds who had raised them in a world of peace rather than war, who had been able to give them childhoods filled with love and security.
Robin stood with Cordelia, their arms around Nygel and Severa, a family reunited and whole. Virion and Lynnia flanked Vienne, their daughter's exotic beauty a testament to love transcending boundaries. Frederick stood protectively near Kiera, his legendary devotion now focused on nurturing rather than just protecting. Stahl and Kivara watched their twins Cade and Kaerin with quiet pride, while Gaius and Hailfire beamed at their daughter Ellie's serious offer of sweets for prenatal health.
The pattern continued throughout the gathering—Miriel and Xander with Laurent, Maribelle and Valvaderhn with Brady, Ricken and Saibyrh with Eldin, Vaike and Lyra with Astrid. Each family unit represented a small miracle of survival and hope, of love found in the darkest times and nurtured in the light.
Tharja and Libra stood together with Noire, their unlikely partnership having produced a daughter who balanced her mother's intensity with her father's compassion. Olivia and Naevin watched Inigo with fond exasperation as he began composing what was probably going to be an elaborate lullaby. Kellam and Sully flanked Kjelle, their daughter's strength a perfect blend of their own qualities.
Sumia and Lon'qu observed Cynthia's enthusiastic planning with the patience of parents long accustomed to their daughter's energy. Henry and Syll kept a fond eye on Grimm as he quietly calculated magical protections. Priam and Verlaine stood with their twins Caelian and Mireya, their royal bearing softened by parental pride.
The more exotic families were no less touching—Alek and Nowi with Nah, their daughter's unique heritage a bridge between worlds. Baron and Say'ri with Takeo and Midori, their children carrying the wisdom of the East. Gregor and Cherche with Gerome, their son's practical nature balanced by deep affection. Donnel and Panne with Yarne, their unlikely union having produced a son who embodied both courage and caution.
And at the center of it all, Roy—Thallion—and Lissa stood with Owain, their upcoming marriage representing another bridge between worlds, another hope for the future.
"This is what we saved," Lucina whispered to Odyn, her voice barely audible above Lilina's excited chatter. "Not just the world, but this. All of this."
Odyn's hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as they rested on her belly. "And now we add to it," he said softly. "Two more lights in a world that chose hope over despair."
As the afternoon wore on and the gathering began to disperse into smaller planning groups, Lucina found herself walking with Lilina, the child's hand trustingly in hers. The present-timeline version of herself chattered about toys and games and all the things she wanted to show the babies, her innocent enthusiasm a balm to Lucina's soul.
"Big me," Lilina said suddenly, using the nickname she had coined for this confusing but wonderful situation, "are you happy about the babies?"
Lucina stopped walking, kneeling once again to meet the child's eyes. "Happier than I ever thought possible," she said honestly. "Sometimes I can hardly believe it's real."
"It's real," Lilina said with the absolute certainty of childhood. "And they're going to be the most loved babies ever. Everyone wants to help take care of them."
Looking back at the assembled families, at the complex web of relationships and love that had grown from the ashes of their original timeline, Lucina could only nod in agreement. Her children would indeed be the most loved babies ever—protected by heroes, nurtured by parents from multiple worlds, and welcomed into a family that spanned timelines and species.
The future had never looked brighter.
As Lucina and Lilina continued their walk, the smaller girl suddenly stopped and looked up at Odyn with a confused expression. Her three-year-old mind was clearly working through the complex relationships that their unique situation had created.
"Um..." Lilina began hesitantly, tugging on Lucina's hand while looking at Odyn. "What do I call him? He's married to big you, but he's not my... I mean, Papa is my papa, but he's..."
The innocent confusion in her voice made several of the nearby adults smile with fond understanding. The complexities of their blended timelines created relationship puzzles that even adults sometimes struggled to navigate, let alone a child.
Odyn knelt down to Lilina's level, his elven features softening with genuine warmth. Despite his otherworldly heritage, he had always possessed a natural gentleness that children instinctively trusted.
"You may call me whatever feels comfortable to you, little one," he said in his melodic accent. "Brother, perhaps? Since I am married to another version of you?"
Lilina considered this seriously, her small face scrunched in concentration. "Brother Odyn," she tried out, then smiled as it felt right on her tongue. "I like that!"
"Good," Odyn said with a gentle laugh. "And you know, you have grandparents you haven't met yet. My parents, the dark elven rulers Berethon and Hyuuan, are very eager to meet you. They'll be coming for Roy and Lissa's wedding."
Lilina's eyes widened with excitement. "Grandparents? Real grandparents? What are they like?"
"They are wise and kind," Odyn assured her. "And they will love you very much, just as they love your... big you." He glanced at Lucina with a slight smile at the adopted terminology. "They rule the dark elven kingdoms with compassion and strength."
"Are they scary?" Lilina asked with the direct honesty of childhood.
"No more scary than any loving grandparents," Odyn promised. "Though they are quite tall, like me."
As this touching exchange continued, a thoughtful silence had fallen over some of the nearby Shepherds. Robin was the first to voice what several of them had begun to realize.
"We're going to face this same situation eventually, aren't we?" he said quietly to Cordelia, his tactical mind working through the implications. "When the present timeline versions of our children are born."
Cordelia nodded slowly, her hand unconsciously moving to rest on her own belly—she and Robin had been discussing starting a family soon. "What will we call them? We can't very well have two Severas or two Nygels."
The realization rippled through the gathered families as they contemplated this future complexity. Virion stroked his chin thoughtfully. "An interesting conundrum. We'll need to choose names that honor both versions while allowing each their own identity."
"Like how Chrom and Sarai chose Lilina instead of Lucina," Maribelle observed. "Similar enough to honor the connection, different enough to give the child their own space."
Frederick, ever practical, was already considering the organizational implications. "We should discuss this systematically. Each family will need to make decisions about how to handle the... duplicated relationships."
Tharja, who had been listening with her typical intensity, spoke up unexpectedly. "Names have power. The present timeline children should have names that reflect hope rather than the desperation that often influenced our original choices."
"That's actually quite thoughtful," Libra agreed, his gentle nature finding wisdom in his wife's observation. "Our Noire was named for darkness because that was what we expected her world to hold. A present timeline daughter might be called... Lumiere, perhaps? Light instead of darkness."
The suggestion sparked animated discussion among the families. Henry and Syll began debating magical implications of name changes, while Sumia and Lon'qu quietly discussed how to honor their daughter Cynthia while giving a future daughter her own identity.
"Severin instead of Severa?" Cordelia suggested to Robin. "Or perhaps something entirely different that still carries meaning for us?"
"And instead of Nygel..." Robin mused, "Perhaps Nigel? Or something completely new that reflects tactics and strategy?"
Kellam and Sully were having their own quiet discussion. "Another Kjelle would be confusing," Sully admitted. "But maybe... Kjella? Or something that means strength in a different language?"
"These children will grow up knowing peace," Inigo observed, his romantic nature finding beauty in the concept. "Their names should reflect joy, hope, celebration—not the survival we once prized above all else."
Owain, predictably, had grander ideas. "They shall bear names of legendary significance! Names that speak of triumph over adversity, of light conquering darkness!"
"Or," Lissa said with fond exasperation, "they could have normal names that don't require epic proclamations every time someone calls them for dinner."
The discussion continued as families began seriously considering how they would handle these future naming decisions. Some leaned toward variations of their current children's names, others toward completely new choices that reflected their hopes for this peaceful timeline.
Watching this unfold, Lucina felt a profound sense of completion. Not only were they creating a better world, but they were actively planning for generations of that world—thinking through how to honor their past while embracing an unlimited future.
"And our children?" she asked Odyn quietly. "When the present timeline has its own versions of Lumi and Lumin?"
Odyn considered this seriously. "Perhaps... Stella and Stellan? Star and starlight? Or we could choose names from your human traditions to complement the elven ones our children will carry."
Lilina, who had been listening to all this adult conversation with the patient attention children sometimes showed for important discussions they didn't fully understand, suddenly spoke up.
"Will the new babies be my brothers and sisters too?"
The question hung in the air, highlighting just how wonderfully complicated their extended family would become. Present timeline children who were siblings to future timeline adults, grandparents who would know some grandchildren as adults and others as babies, aunts and uncles who were actually alternate versions of the children themselves.
"Yes," Lucina said firmly, kneeling to hug the little girl. "All the children—future, present, and yet to come—will be family. Brothers and sisters and cousins in every way that matters."
"Good," Lilina said with satisfaction. "I want lots of brothers and sisters. And I want to help name the new ones too!"
As laughter rippled through the gathered families at this declaration, Lucina looked around at the complex, beautiful, impossibly loving network they had created. Soon, there would be even more children, more names to choose, more relationships to navigate, more love to share.
The future was not just bright—it was multiplying, growing, becoming more wonderful with each passing day and each new possibility they embraced together.
To be Continued...
Next time: Chapter 26: Joy of Peaceful Days; Shepherds' Weddings?