A/N: Between writers block and the fact that college starts for me tomorrow, it took me longer than I thought to get this out. Updates between this and LK are going to be a bit more sporadic from now on, but I'll keep working on them, promise. This is a bit short, mostly because I'm trying a new idea out—showing the same scene from multiple perspectives. Please let me know what you thought of it, since it's something I might want to use in the future.

Crazyloop8888: The theories I've heard say that was either because the gods told him to, or he chose to do it to get Takumi to work with Corrin. I liked the second one more, so that's the one I picked.

The Snow Prince: Oops, thanks for catching the error with the fork.

Galator: Partially. Jakob and her sister are definitely part of it, but the other part is that she's still in service to Corrin, and having betrayed him once doesn't want to do so again. We'll see what happens should Corrin ever release her from that service, though…

Ramix and Ajani's Apprentice: Silas's parents are cool with him marrying Kagero if he S-supports her, so they don't have a strong anti-Hoshidan bias or anything. That's why I figured they wouldn't be against Mozu for her country of origin.

GuestWithIdeas: I appreciate the suggestion, but again have to say not possible. The fic is centered on Corrin's struggles to maintain a new Valla, and I don't think including cameos from the Shepherds would contribute to that. Part of writing is resisting the urge to incorporate every idea, otherwise I'll likely end up with too much to handle and be unable to finish the fic. I already have his "threats" sketched out and the groundwork laid down, so the fic is definitely going to have conflict, have no fear on that!

Having an entire country celebrate his birthday is odd to Corrin. Unless you were the ruler or next in line, your birthday didn't get celebrated in Nohr; they just didn't have the resources to spare for pomp and grandour. So looking out his window to see decorations strung throughout Elysium and bustling, cheering crowds attending the festival, is a surreal experience.

He doesn't go to the city—while he generally loves socializing, he's more eager to spend time with his siblings and friends, now that they've all arrived. Felicia, Flora and Jakob spent the day before tidying up his suite, so when his siblings step in they find a large, lovely room with rich food awaiting them.

It's not so much a party as a celebratory dinner, truth be told. But his siblings bring well-wishes and presents, and some games like Hazard and shogi, and Azura dedicates a song to him, and it's just a really nice event. Lilith sneaks her gift in before everyone else arrives, a rolled-up scroll. When he opens it he is greeted by the visage of a man with long hair and sad eyes, drawn in charcoal. He glances at her and she mouths 'Father'—she must have recreated his face from memory. She always was good at art. Swallowing, he closes the scroll and thanks her.

When the party is in full swing and he's sure Azura is sufficiently distracted by Elise and Sakura, Corrin finds Xander speaking with Ryoma, a glass of wine in hand. Other than the new dark circles under their eyes, his elder brothers look hardly the worse for wear for their new kingship. He taps the Nohrian king on the shoulder.

"Can I speak to you?" he asks quietly. His brother crooks an eyebrow, but lets Corrin lead him away to a corner of the room. The albino glances around again before beginning to speak rapidly.

"Okay, do you remember my piano, back in the Northern Fortress? Do you think you could, um, transport it here for me?"

Xander's eyebrows rise. "I can have several wyvern couriers deliver it, yes. But what for?"

"Please don't tell Azura," Corrin hisses, darting a second look over his shoulder to ensure the woman in question is still occupied. "But I'm going to propose soon, and I was going to use the piano for it. So—"

His brother smiles and claps him on the shoulder. "Say no more. I'll tell the couriers to bring it here with all speed."

Corrin exhales in relief. "Thank you."

The coronation is held three days later, and the throne room is absolutely packed front to back with people. He's gained two new sets one armor, one for combat, and a fancy ceremonial set he's wearing now. His crown is wrought with iron and silver, forged in the shape of dragon horns and studded with aquamarines. Corrin would wonder if the ironworkers were sending a message about his heritage if he weren't certain that knowledge was secret.

Having placed the crown on his head, Azura's hands linger, stroking his cheek briefly before withdrawing. He slowly rises, grimacing a bit at the pressure the additional weight puts on his head and neck. He'll have to commission a smaller one like Xander's and use this large one only for special occasions.

Azura steps down, joining his siblings and retainers at the base of the dais, where the original throne of Valla stands. It had been damaged heavily during the battles with Gunter and Anankos, but it was a symbol of past glory, and it had been deemed that recovering it would be good for morale. Azura had sent men to begin restoring it immediately, and they'd finished only a few days ago. Now it resides in Castle Avalon, proud and glorious once again. Corrin lowers himself into it, trying not to fidget at the feel of the cold, uncomfortable stone.

Taking a deep breath to hide his nerves, he begins his address to the people, voice magically amplified so that all can hear him. "Vallites…I would like to begin my address by thanking King Ryoma and King Xander for their generous gift of land. If not for them, we would be homeless…"

I'm getting too old to make journeys like this, Chief Kenta of the Fire Tribe thinks, frowning as he rubs a stiff shoulder. He's nearing fifty, and really shouldn't have made the trip down to this new Valla, especially since the Fire Tribe is far from their territory; he doesn't think they'll have much communication or trade going on. But he'd respected Sumeragi and Mikoto greatly, and was curious about their son. After his daughter had returned from the war, with tales of how he'd led them against a dragon-god, it had only been heightened. So when Kenta saw the opportunity to see the lad for himself, he took it.

"You don't have to go," Rinkah had protested when he'd informed her he would be attending the coronation. "I know how travel tires you out at your age."

"Girl, don't tell me I'm getting too old," Kenta had snorted in response, "I'm as fit as ever. Besides, it's about time you started learning how to rule the tribe. Let's see how you do without me for a few weeks."

Rinkah had hesitated, but then nodded firmly. He smiles a bit in reminiscence, remembering her firm promise that she will—something had changed during her time at war. She still burned with passion, but it was controlled now. It was as though she'd found some sort of inner peace with herself.

And a boyfriend.

His smile turns to a scowl. He can't say he approves of her boyfriend—outsiders are outsiders—but he'll give him a chance, seeing as how he'd not only fought in the war too, but earned Rinkah's respect. One mistake and he'll be sent packing back to…Hoshido? Nohr? One of the other tribes? Whichever place he came from, Kenta can't be bothered to remember.

But in any case, his curiosity about Sumeragi and Mikoto's child is satisfied. Kenta can now understand his daughter's respect for him, though he's a bit more aloof. The boy has heart, that much is clear, but he takes after the deceased king too much—very idealistic, very naïve. The same qualities that had gotten Sumeragi killed.

Maybe Kenta's just cynical, old, or both, but he can't help but feel as though Corrin's similarities to his father will be his downfall.

The new king of Valla is certainly something, Abdul has to admit, almost as transfixed on King Corrin's words as the rest of those in attendance. He has yet to speak with the man personally, unfortunately; he can't leave until he's assessed him like Queen Jamila had asked. She'd sent him to Valla not just to negotiate for their money, but to gauge if their new rulers were a threat.

To be honest, part of him had hoped they would be, if only so he could feel justified for blaming them. If they'd arrived in Cyrkensia just a little bit faster, perhaps his elderly parents would still be alive. His mouth tightens as he recalls the sight of their mangled, recovered bodies.

Still, he'd had a job, and for Nestra's sake he had to be objective. So he'd masked his personal feelings and kept a polite demeanor and spoke to people and observed. You could tell much about a man by the company he kept, and judging by his betrothed and servants, the king was every bit the kind, peace-loving man the letters had painted him as. His speech just now further leads credence to it.

Abdul sighs quietly, feeling his mouth twist wryly upwards. He'll still withhold judgment until he actively meets the man himself, but it looks like when he returns home he'll be able to reassure his queen they have nothing to fear.

Well, he certainly knows how to work a crowd.

Daimyo Tanaka Jiro applauds with the rest as the newly-appointed king finishes his speech, though inwardly he seethes at the situation he's found himself in. To think that after his family's decades of service to Hoshido, they'd be handed off to serve some sheltered Nohrian lord without a second thought. His ancestors must be rolling in their graves.

Yes, perhaps the boy once was part of the Hoshidan royal family, but he'd been raised Nohrian—and he'd made it perfectly clear which of the two he preferred. Had he but reclaimed his true name, Jiro would have found it much more tolerable serving under him. Even better if he'd had the rest of the Nohrian dogs in this country thrown out or killed. But no, he was content to lick their boots, and for that, Jiro despises him.

"You seem frustrated," a soft voice by his ear speaks.

Jiro turns and scowls. The woman next to him is obviously a commoner by the plainness of her clothes; that alone would make her audacious for deigning to address him, even if she didn't have the hallmarks of a foreigner. Pale-skinned with long brown hair, her features remind him a bit of an owl, large green eyes blinking slowly behind thin spectacles.

"I have nothing to say to a Nohrian," he sniffs.

She seems unfazed by his attitude, merely saying, "Actually, I'm not Nohrian. I was one of the original populace of Valla."

Oh. She must have been one of the slaves. A bit shamed, he softens his tone somewhat. "Ah. You have my apologies for the mistakes, and my condolences for what you must have gone through."

"No offense taken. But back to my original point—you aren't happy having him rule you, are you?" Her eyes fixate on his, and he shivers; the slow blinking is unnerving. "One could even say you'd prefer to have someone else in charge instead?"

"Careful what words you speak, woman," he hisses, glancing around surreptitiously, but the crowd is too busy drooling over their new master to pay mind, "They may easily be mistaken for treason, especially in company such as this. And I have no desire to see my head roll."

"Treason is the furthest thing from my mind." She sounds sincere enough. "I care about the new Valla as much as any Vallite. And that's why I want to see it in the hands of its true queen, not the son of Anankos."

"Yes, well—" Jiro's head snaps around as the son of Anankos rings through his head. "Beg pardon?"

She smiles. "I see that got your attention. Yes, the truth is, 'King' Corrin was never blood-related to your royal family; he was sired by the very same dragon-god who destroyed my country."

Jiro's mind races at this news. He's read the report on Anankos, of course, and while he would never admit it he found the notion of such a being terrifying. Raising the dead? Possessing people? Creating black holes? And of course the madness, brought on by simply being too powerful.

Cold chills run down his spine. He hadn't been in Shirasagi the day of Prince Corrin's rampage, but he'd heard about what had happened there. The royals had tried to cover it up, of course, but whispers still floated about. That is who is in charge of my future? The son of a mad god, who may be a little mad himself?

"I see you understand my concerns," the woman says, studying his face closely. "Corrin did us a great service by slaying that beast, and he has my gratitude for that. But who's to say he won't end up like his father? I don't want to see history repeat, and you don't want to be ruled by a foreigner. It sounds to me we have a common goal."

"You say this as if being ruled by his betrothed would be much better," Jiro sniffs, buying for time as he tries to sort out his thoughts. His eyes drift to the woman in question, where she is standing at her beloved's side, smiling faintly. "She's just as foreign as he, and her heart is made of ice besides."

"She was raised Hoshidan, wasn't she? Surely that puts her above him, in your eyes, at least a little."

It doesn't, not really. But…taking the king out of the equation, so to speak, would at least open up more opportunities. Perhaps he'd be able to get a Hoshidan on the throne. Maybe even himself. The thought makes him preen a little.

Still, he's wary of this woman. "How do you know all this?"

Vaguely, she responds, "Let's just say, under Anankos's rule, certain individuals were privy to special information and rights, and leave it at that."

Jiro hesitates, eyeing her with no small modicum of suspicion. As much as he would love to see the boy removed from power and the Nohrians receive their just punishment, he's no fool. He doesn't know this woman, and he has no way to be sure she isn't trying to trick him into rebellion. Pointing out a traitor would win her quite a bit of favor with the king.

As though reading his mind, the woman smiles reassuringly. "I see you still aren't convinced. That's fine. Just think about it, Lord Jiro." As she steps past him, her hand presses briefly into his. He glances down to see a crumpled piece of paper with some faintly scrawled words on it. A date, a time, a place, and a phrase: "For the future of Valla."

When he looks back up, the woman is gone, and it's only then he realizes that while she knew his name, she never gave him hers.

In hindsight, returning to Valla for the coronation was not very wise. But however conflicted and guilty Gunter may feel about his actions, he simply can't bear to miss such an important occasion for his protégé. He didn't intend to speak with him or anyone, just witness it and disappear forever. He'd already withdrawn from Nohr, slipping away as the exhausted army returned home, but word got around; he'd heard about Corrin's impending coronation in time to start planning how to get there. He was old, and clever, and he'd managed to sneak into Castle Avalon with the rest of the crowd.

Trying to leave ahead of the crowd was a mistake. As he'd made his way to the entrance, the guards had blocked his way, spears crossed in front of him, and requested he lower his hood. Unwilling to start a fight, he'd done so, hoping that would be that, but Corrin must have given them his description; they'd seized him immediately and dragged him off.

Now, he sits in a prison cell, patiently waiting for and quietly dreading the inevitable confrontation. It's nice, as far as cells go; clean, about twelve by twelve by twelve, with a single window high up that lets light and fresh air in. The door is heavy oak wood, with a slot at the bottom for food and a barred window people can look in and out of. The cot is simple, but he's slept on far worse.

He's in there for perhaps a day before his ears pick up footsteps, then hushed voices, on the other side. Gunter takes a seat on the bed and casts his eyes down as the door creaks open. He stares at the bare feet of the man he once considered a son, shame preventing him from looking at him directly.

"Gunter," Corrin finally speaks, "Look at me."

It is not a suggestion. Slowly he lifts his gaze. Corrin is standing there, in his new kingly armor and crown, looking regal and very out of place in the prison. Three familiar faces hover behind him, one concerned, one expressionless, one angry. Pain laces through him at the sight.

"Lord Corrin. Felicia. Flora. Jakob." The names stick in his throat like a meat bone; it takes some effort to get them out.

Before anyone can speak, Jakob turns away stiffly. "I have nothing to say to you, old man. You are dead to me. I only came down here to tell you that, and now I shall take my leave."

The words were aimed at Gunter, yet it is Corrin who looks wounded. "Jakob—"

"He betrayed you, Lord Corrin!" the butler snaps. In a quieter voice, so low Gunter almost misses it, he adds, "He betrayed us."

"So did I," Flora says quietly, eyes downcast.

"That's different," Jakob argues. "You were coerced into it by Garon. The old man did so of his own free will. He put the world at stake for a grudge born over a decade again, betraying those who cared for him in the process! And then he has the nerve to come back as if nothing had happened!"

His fury breaks his normally haughty composure, his face flushing red and voice rising with anger. The butler takes a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. Then, straightening his jacket, Jakob storms out with nary a final glance in Gunter's direction.

Flora sighs. "Gunter…I will not cast judgment on you for your crimes. Mine were similar, after all. But I'm still not ready to forgive you yet. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His voice is resigned. "He is not wrong."

She nods, and stands there, awkward. Her sister fiddles her fingers together, biting her lip before finally speaking up. "Um, um…I want to say…I'm glad you're alright, Gunter. But I just…"

Felicia sniffs and rubs her eyes. "I just…it hurts so much what you did. You didn't even give me or Flora or Jakob a spare thought before trying to kill us. We meant so little to you, you couldn't even take the time to acknowledge us."

She glances at Corrin. "I'm sorry, Lord Corrin, I still can't…"

"It's okay," he reassures. "Neither of you has to stay. I'll be fine—there are guards right here, though I don't think he'll try anything."

With a soft "thank you" the twins depart, and Gunter is left alone with the man he betrayed. His gaze drifts back down to the floor.

It's true—he hadn't given the servants a second thought. He's been so caught up in turmoil for betraying his liege that he's forgotten the others he'd betrayed as well. But he'd practically raised them as best he knew, loved them as best he could with his crooked heart, and then discarded them. The guilt is so thick it almost chokes him.

"Gunter, won't you look at me?"

Steadfastly, he responds, "No. I am shamed, my lord. I am dishonored for what I did to you and the others."

"What? Gunter, no, that's not true!" His old charge beseeches, and it makes Gunter cringe. "I don't hold you accountable to your crimes; I only wanted to speak with you, that's why I told the guards to arrest you if they saw you, seeing as you ran away whenever I approached you. After this I'll have you released from prison, and you can come live with us again."

Still so idealistic, even now, even after everything Anankos and I tried to do to you. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I can't do that. I didn't come back with the intention of staying; I merely wanted to see you become the man I knew you could be, and then disappear forever, as I should."

"Because of what happened in Valla? I told you, that was Anankos's doing, not yours."

Gunter laughs bitterly. "That, my lord, is where you are mistaken."

He can still recall the feel of Anankos's presence, cold and dark and scaly like a snake against his mind, that low voice in his ear crooning of vengeance. The memory disgusts him, and venomously he spits, "Anankos did not merely possess you, as you seem to think. He could not control the living as he could the dead, not without their permission. And he made you want to give him that permission. He reached deep into your heart, found your greatest, deepest desires and secrets, and promised that he would deliver them. You could say no, but he would stay in the back of your mind, and every time you were reminded of your powerlessness, he'd be there, offering everything you wanted for so little in return…

"But once you let him in, he grabbed and twisted your will, until that single desire dominated your every waking moment. It festered and became an obsession, which he used to clasp your mind even tighter in his claws. Yes, he was the one in control of me in Valla, but he would never have had possession of my body if I hadn't given it to him. I am at fault here."

Weakly, Corrin tries to protest, "I forgave you—"

"That does not make things suddenly alright!"

Corrin takes a step back in shock as Gunter's head snaps up, one fist pounding on his knee. The guards shift, hands going to their weapons. Gunter ignores them, anger bubbling over like a full cauldron, "You have to learn that just because you have come to term with things, does not mean others have. That you cannot force others to feel as you do." The old knight clenches his fists, feeling them tremble with frustration and self-loathing. "I swore my service to you, and I betrayed you. I betrayed Flora and Felicia and Jakob and my entire country. I am an oathbreaker, a traitor, and an attempted regicide. Those are crimes that cannot simply be forgiven."

"Gunter…"

"This is not solely about you and just because you have forgiven me does not mean the rest of the world will, as we just saw." Quieter, he finishes, "It does not mean I have forgiven myself."

And until I have, I cannot bear to stand in your presence. The guilt…is too much.

For a long moment, the king does not respond, and Gunter knows it's because he know he's right. When Corrin finally does speak, he sounds so young, as though he were a boy again, come running to Gunter crying because of a nightmare. "Is there nothing I can say that will convince you to stay?"

"Nothing, my lord."

Corrin gazes at him a moment longer. Silence hangs between, the final death knell of a broken relationship. Then, he closes his eyes. "Guards?" he calls.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" the duo asks in union.

"Have this man freed. Return to him his weapons, horse and armor. Give him a bag of gold and food, and let him be on his way. If you see him again…leave him be."

They snap a salute. One moves to fetch the requested things; the other unshackles Gunter. He slowly rubs his wrists, staring at the ground, still unable to look his benefactor in the eye.

"You don't wish to keep me imprisoned?" he questions, "Or hand me over to King Xander? He'd be more than happy to dispense the justice you haven't."

"You think poorly of my brother and I. But given what Garon did to you, that's not a surprise." Corrin shakes his head, his features resigned. "I don't want you dead, or to keep you trapped forever. You…you have your freedom, to live your life as you wish it."

"I see." The guard takes him by the arm and begins to lead him outside.

"I wish you well, Gunter," Corrin's voice, drifting over his shoulder, is heavy and sad. "I hope…I hope I see you again someday. Whatever the rest of the world thinks…you'll always be welcome in Valla."

Gunter needs to stop and swallow the lump in his throat. He takes a moment to compose himself, then says, firm and regretful, "Goodbye, Lord Corrin."

He could swear he hears a quiet "Goodbye, Father," as he goes.

A/N:

I was surprised by how many people thought Abdul's up to something. Nope, he really isn't. He has a job, and he's going to do it fairly. Doesn't mean we might not see some unhappy Nestrians in the future, though…

I never planned to change Gunter's ending from the game—it fits him very well. I just wanted to let him and Corrin talk one last time, since I felt they never got proper closure. And I wanted Corrin to learn that sometimes, there are some things you just can't fix.