talys's heart

A lover, or a romantic tryst…

"It isn't selfish, Caeda. I imagine every parent would want to forge a peaceful country for the sake of their child. How could you be a bad queen sharing in the desires of your people and making their fight your own?" His shake of head is followed by the silent gauging of their circumstances. Their efforts joined, invisibly. Stronger as one, and beholden to the same duty no matter the struggle or age.

Together, he knows their hands will bring the reality of gentle ideals into view. Not just writ on paper, not just relayed in words, but enacted with truth and substance for others to indulge. It can happen and they need only believe, because belief does not start with the people, but with the leaders that show it can be done. That goodness is mutual with the crown and the examples of two.

Set in the clear and mild expression he wears is a living vow of confidence, immovable as rock - just as everlasting and engraved within him to the extent of eternity. "What matters only is that the world is better for it. That we make it that better place not just for our children, but for all children."

A noble assertion, holding firm as a fisherman's tautened line, until that line should slacken ever so slightly with a shy return to their days in Talys. To the eve of a final battle, even, where not-yet-king should face not-yet-queen and make his feelings known. He looks down at their hands.

"With that said, I would be pleased to craft that better world with you. I don't say it enough, but. . .you are a truly remarkable woman, Caeda. That we uphold the same wish for a kinder future, I couldn't ask for someone more."

when marth puts it like that, she feels a tad on the foolish side. of course, to share in some of the distress of the common people would come to make a queen who would understand the concerns of her people far better than an ignorant one would. she need only act on that understanding.

a long day of seminars and training exercises is finally over, and even an experienced soldier and noble like caeda cannot stifle the yawn that escapes her after she stands up from her seat amongst the row of desks. she knows her limit— and she knows she's about to hit it. though she would find it not so hard to push herself past, it would better not to worry her friends and loved ones.

careful as she is, that does not stop her from bumping into someone on her way out. she grabs onto the closest thing (—cloth?) to keep herself from falling, looking up to see who she had bumped into.

"na—" she opens her mouth to speak a certain myrmidon's name into existence before promptly closing it at the realization it is not who she thinks it is at first glance. she blinks slowly, gaze wandering to the brown hair that is (objectively) far too light to be his. instead, it invokes the image of the lighthearted flirt that once before had imitated.

but she DIDN'T SAY THAT! WHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

instead she TOYS with him as if he were some child, being admonished for their tone in speaking to their... their BETTERS! ( because it is obvious that there must be a power imbalance here, how on earth ELSE do people get others to do things for them. ) we-e-ell, sennō is most certainly NOT a child, so he will NOT be toyed with. NOT SO!

" well, it doesn't seem like there are ki--- " but he stops. hells, he doesn't have to be nice, but he can't be overly rude, either. sennō won't admit it even under torture, but he is the one with less power in this situation. his desire to return to the library trumps most anything he can conceive of doing right now, but he really and truly cannot handle the gargantuan task of book retrieval on his lonesome. this woman he has picked is close by, shares his woes, and looks like a sturdy person. she is an ideal helper.

but.

BUT.

she wants him to say please.

the word please is a pit viper. it is fine to those who know its handling well, but to the ones who hardly ever attempt a brush past it, one bite is fatal. a word like that is corrosive to sennō's sanity! he's never had to say anything close to it in his life, so why now?!

he can't say it. that's impossible! he would be lowering himself far beyond what he would ever be willing to! it's pure unfeasibility! out of the question! absolutely! NOT!

" the library has just dared to kick me---ME!---out for OTHER PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS. " fingers shake, scramble, wriggle before deciding on indignant claw-shapes, the purple scarring only adding to the animalistic display of frothing madness from this man. " like it's MY fault that they check out too many books to IDIOTS!! "

but sennō catches himself; if he wants to appeal to the common man, he must meet them at a calm, regulated level. he takes a deep breath ( that takes much, much longer than necessary to complete ), adjusts his glasses, fixes his hat. the next time he opens his scarlet-cornered eyes, there is such cool that it's shocking how much insanity was leaking from him mere seconds ago.

" ...but as i am sure you are aware, the library will not let us back in until they see these books returned, be it my problem or not, " sennō huffs, feeling his fingers itch. gods, how he wants to read right now and NOT be talking to other people. " so, much as it is beneath me to seek assistance... i cannot collect on all of these debts myself.

within this vast, kind world, there exist a paltry two ways to get sennō to be helpful. for him to even bother aligning with anything that can be considered on a technicality to be " nice ", he must either be offered a prize that outweighs the labor of kindness, or be sufficiently enraged to the point that he offers a hand just to make the problem stop.

this is a story of both motives being combined into one great sennō-led crusade.

it starts off simply: sennō, in the library, carrying books stacked higher than what should be possible for a human. a little gravity magic works wonders for balance, especially with such important things as the literature he holds!

though he has not done nearly enough to be allowed close to the restricted areas of the library, he does have plenty of access to research papers, academic publications, and thick encyclopedias all laden with intriguing topics of research. sennō is nothing if not a reader, given his habits; perhaps the only time he ever shuts up is when he is handed a book and sent to some dark, decrepit corner. ahh, bliss. since today is his self-appointed mass-checkout day, he is all set to abscond to a quiet area to get some reading done!

but hark---there seems to be a nefarious evil at play in this very hall of compositions, certainly more nefarious than sennō could ever hope to be! for it is only when he moves to the checkout desk that he is told quite possibly the most harrowing set of words a man of his repute could ever hope to endure hearing:

" due to the excess of overdue books that the library is missing, we are closing access to the space and book checkout until we get them back. i apologize, but we will need to ask you to leave. "

imagine, if you will, the sound of glass shattering. then, please imagine that the sound of five hundred screaming horses is overlaid on top of it, as well as the sound of twenty apprentice blacksmiths taking swords to the grindstone and oversharpening them with a zeal that can only be found in youthful inexperience, and then on top of all of that, imagine a giant explosion that sends the glass and the horses and the blacksmith apprentices to Noise Hell where they shall make their horrible cacophonic orchestra for the rest of time itself.

all of this cannot rival the impossibly high-pitched shriek that a suddenly hysteric sennō releases, trembling with all of the force of a land-battering typhoon as staff take his books away and push him out the door.

THIS.

IS.

MADNESS.

sennō cannot beLIEVE what he has heard! the fact that he can no longer exist in such a space? the fact that he is BANNED from knowledge? THE FACT THAT THEY TOOK HIS BOOKS AWAY???

oh, this will not go unpunished. no, this means WAR. BLOODY, PAINFUL WAR.

with a furious hand he swings, hurling a point straight at a passerby that he recognizes only slightly as someone from his own house. an effective war is carried out with numbers, no? the humble strategist requires fighters.

in any case, she finds herself now blindsided by the sudden closing of the library. "i apologize lady caeda, but until we get much of the missing books returned we can't let anyone else check out any more..." one such library assistant had apologized to her with their head bowed downward in respect. she'd reassured him that it was alright and she understood... but now that she was stuck outside the library. well... what was she supposed to do with her free time?

hand to chin in thought, she does not see right away the remarkable ire of another student in her house, beholden to her train of thought. she could go to the training grounds perhaps, or maybe she could give marth a visit.....

"YOU! BLUE HAIR!"

For muns who aren’t into explicit sexual content, but don’t mind approaching the topic. Feel free to cross out any questions you aren’t comfortable with!

Is your muse a romantic? Do they dream of love and marriage?

Is your muse a deviant? Are they overly flirtatious or forward?

Is your muse good at kissing? Are they experienced?

Does your muse initiate a lot of physical contact?

Is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection? 

Does your muse steal clothing from their partner?

Is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?

Is your muse comfortable with, or proud of their body? Are they insecure?

Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

Have their crushes been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?

Have their partners been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split? 

Is your muse easily flustered? Do they blush, swear, etc.?

Where is your muse most sensitive? 

Is your muse more submissive or dominant in a relationship? 

Would your muse ever tempt their partner, e.g. flirting, wearing tight/sexy clothing?

Does your muse initiate heated/sexual contact, or do they wait for their partner?

Does your muse leave hickies? Do they ask for them?

Does your muse like to be pinned down, or to pin their partner? 

Has your muse reached first/second/third base? Home run? 

Would your muse be interested in engaging with multiple partners?

Would your muse ever send a sexual text message? Would they send pictures?

Does your muse read smut, own magazines, or watch p-rn?

Is your muse the type to discuss their sex life or sexual prowess with others?

Is your muse a top, a bottom, or a switch? Do they have a lean?

How interested is your muse in sex and sexual activity?

The proprietor met his gaze, the cleaver still in hand, viscera still underneath his fingernails, and Dimitri became only vaguely aware of the man's movement toward him, only vaguely aware of the tug of his face into a grotesque grimace of bared teeth. 

He had not come armed. Nor, he suspected, had any of the other patrons, save Caeda. He had not expected to need to, could not have predicted the turn that such an outing might have taken. 

If what remained on the ground at the proprietor's feet had been armed, would they have come upon the scene as it was? 

The hypothetical had no chance to form in his mind, no chance to play itself out to its ogical conclusion: the man advanced, swinging the cruel, heavy cleaver toward Dimitri's body, and in response Dimitri gripped the edge of the table along the wall and flung it, bearing down on the man for another strike of the heavy table against his entire body. 

He barely registered the shock in the man's face, the quietest of gasps and the understanding that this was not how things had been planned – and Dimitri slammed the table down on him once more, the leg of it splintering in his hand. 

Heat prickled all over his skin, and he might have pressed in further, had Caeda's voice no broken the tension in the air. His eyes flicked to hers, where she knelt against the back of the assistant, whom she had dispatched neatly. 

It was with some disgust as Dimitri bent to lift the proprietor from his collar, as though hauling a sack of flour. "I...am unharmed." The words left a sour taste in his throat, the acid of bile, and he jerked his head. "Come, we must take these people to the proper authority. And...and we must alert someone to..." 

but dimitri was prince only in name– ruler, not yet. she would curse herself for realizing this so late. “good work. the knights of seiros will know what to do here.” she nods to stall for the right words to say, knowing that merely gaping at him would certainly only make him feel worse. 

That she had made it to him without issue was comforting – it meant that the fiends had not separated, that he could see. They would not take he and Caeda unawares. 

He picked careful steps along the floorboards, aware that any misstep would alert those moving upstairs that they were coming, and nodded to Caeda when he arrived at her side. 

"I shall go first," he said, and it wasn’t a question – if they were to attack, he would rather take the brunt of the blow, and have Caeda at his back than to have her on the vanguard to face whatever horrors awaited. "You cover my back. They've nowhere to go." 

It was meant to be an encouragement, but the smile that twisted his lips was more of a grimace, paired with the intense pinch of his brows as he mounted the stairs, taking them carefully, one at a time. 

A cursory glance at the upstairs hall showed no light, no life, no activity in the nearest rooms, and only the shuffle of feet and hushed, frantic whispers from the end of the hall. As though in punctuation, occasionally there was a dull thump, and a grunt, and it coiled and pitched nausea in Dimitri's gut to approach. 

Turning back to face Caeda, he pressed a finger to his lips, then jerked his head – on his mark – 1 – 2 – go - ! 

With a lurch, Dimitri slammed his shoulder against the door to the final room in the corridor, and filled the space with his body to shield Caeda from any retalitory strike – which did not come. Instead, the scene that lay before them filled his senses with red: the fuzz and burn that ever flickered at the edge of his vision deepened and intensified, painting shocked blood-slick faces in a deeper haze of vibrancy, and his nose immediately filled with the scent of copper. 

His gut pitched, and he snarled out, "What on earth are you doing?!" 

caeda does not want him to go first, but she knows when she can't change someone’s mind. still, watching him approach the second floor first slowly builds a sense of anxiety and dread in her– bead of sweat dropping from her cheek to the floorboard when she joins him at the door. she offers him a nod to show she understands the plan and then he executes.

the smell hits first– rot of corpse and copper distinct on her senses. she sees the limb thud against the ground even behind dimitri.

momentarily disturbed by the sight before her– what she could see behind dimitri at least – caeda stands stock still with wide eyes and both her heart and gut wrenching. she wished she could say she hasn't seen worse but war is gruesome and cruel to human lives. it is dimitri's furious shout that brings her back to reality.

there was a reason caeda carried a sword wherever she went, and it was not for mere decoration. there was always danger lurking around the corner with her position and desire to help others, and while caeda could handle most by herself not even she could do much with only her bare hands.

they both run towards her and dimitri– not to escape but rather to fight. she’s instantly unsheathing her sword, stepping to dimitri’s flank and grabbing one of their attentions. she does not need to watch dimitri to know he will be alright handling the other. seeing the weapon in his hand, caeda stands at defense first. her blade classes with the very same dagger that had been used to dismember, then with a smooth flick of her wrist she disarms him.

the assistant’s gaze goes towards the dagger that is sent deep into crumbling wood and caeda takes advantage of the distraction. she jabs the pommel of her sword against thr base of the neck and he falls with a loud THUD!

“you're being apprehended. go quietly or i’ll make this much worse for you.” her voice is cold– starch different to the usual warmth she always held. it gives way to halting any inspiration the man might have to escape.

It was well spotted, and he felt the instant relief of knowing that she had his back – it was one thing to work well with the companions at your back, but it was another to trust them, and Caeda earned his trust with her competence with every passing moment. She must be a remarkable companion to have, in the heat of battle. 

He felt the shift of her weight immediately, and nudged the horse to a safer speed, anticipating her departure. 

"Take the front," he said to her over his shoulder, circling the horse once to allow her to jump to the ground, "and I shall go to the back! We will catch them in the center – they will have no place further to run to!" 

As soon as her weight left the saddle, he urged the horse farther forward, bracing for a jump over the ramshackle, slotted fence and into the grown-over garden. Carefully, as he circled the horse once more to slow to a halt, he threw one leg over the saddle to slide from the horse's back, patting the horse on the neck gently for a job well done as he looped the bridle over a post to keep the horse from wandering. 

The house was a mess, even from the outside – loose shingles having slid from the roof to litter the yard, the varnish stripped and patchy and weathered. It was clear there had been no inhabitants in quite some time, and Dimitri could not help but wonder for what purpose these villains had run here. Was this a base of theirs, or merely a convenient attempt at escape? 

while dimitri presumably goes around back, her eyes dart around for any sight of life within the dilapidated home. there is nothing left, with even some of the floorboard torn and broken. why would they have come in here of all places...? this was way too suspicious. caeda had a feeling they were about to uncover a more terrible crime than they originally bargained for. finding the stairs to the second level is easy enough, but she knows she shouldn't go up alone.

The horse followed direction wonderfully, the barest press of his knee guiding them into the tight space of the alleyway Caeda pointed out, where they had last seen hide or hair of those fiends who had run from the ice cream stall. He could not see them there, presently, and in the dim afternoon light peeking through the buildings he would have been surprised if there was any trace of them to be seen – but upon narrowing his eyes, seeking along the ground where the horse pawed, he saw the bare outlines of foot prints. 

Again, and again. Telling himself the same things, hiding behind an excuse that held less and less water by the day. Going against the very idea that brought him to this place and got him where he currently was- the quest to figure out who he must have been in this life, to find his past, his family and friends and to return to where he belonged. The day he talked with the cardinal, Lambert had conviction in his words- he was determined to see this through and uncover his identity, that he’d take his time but he’d make sure to continue his progress.

Yet as weeks passed, that determination started to seem more like a mirage. It felt less concrete, less clear- easier to push aside and disregard, easier to forget.

Turns out the path towards one’s forgotten past was a daunting one, and Lambert was sure that whatever it was that path held for him- it wouldn’t be cheap, much less easy to traverse. With every new discovery he made his mind and body reacted with violent fear and discomfort, and a myriad of new anxieties would manifest on top of everything else. With the pieces he currently had he could make an outline of who he was meant to be, but it simply wasn’t enough. By now it had been clear that his heart wasn’t the most reliable narrator- that perhaps what he thought were undeniable truths could’ve been just convenient coincidences and nothing more.

Maybe he had made nothing but mistakes atop mistakes so far in his assumptions, or maybe he had been on the right path all along. It felt impossible for him to tell, but in the back of his mind Lambert knew there was at least one way of getting more solid information- and that lay in one of the few places in the monastery that he had been avoiding actively ever since he started his life there.

Judging by the crest he had and Dimitri’s words - that regardless of their level of parentage Lambert was a Blaiddyd - it meant he was at the very least nobility. And if he was nobility, then surely his name would show up in one of Faerghus’ directories of noble bloodlines and major military ranks. From that he’d then be able to start at least tracing back his parents, possible siblings, and the skeleton of his past- a true step towards rediscovering his identity in this world, and perhaps finally a chance to don a face rather than exist as a ghost.

It was so easy. The book was right there.

But the man froze each time he even found himself within the same wing of the library’s door, making it impossible to even approach it. Because as easy as it seemed, as much as it could result in a groundbreaking advance for the problem that plagued him the most, the truth terrified him.

Today was a day where Lambert woke up determined to put an end to this and do it himself- get this ridiculous dance of back and forth to end and take the steps he needed with his own strength, but as the hours rolled by his resolve withered and by now it was but ash in the wind as the professor stood helpless before the library’s entrance. It was embarrassing how such a simple thing made him feel so powerless. 

As he was about to turn around in defeat however, he accidentally bumped into someone with a soft exclamation. “Oh- please forgive me, I was not paying attention to my surroundings. Are you okay?” Looking down, he was met with a girl clad in the typical student uniform, her long ultramarine hair falling behind her- the color matching with her eyes. While she seemed young, Lambert could tell from her gaze that she was no simple warrior.

Most likely the leader of some land, or an heir. 

"oh, i'm alright." she's quick to reassure with a sheepish smile, hoping he doesn't feel too terribly about bumping into her. she too was at fault for not watching the corner as she rounded it. "i am a classmate of dimitri's, yes. though i would like to consider us friends, i have yet to ask that of him." the pegasus knight chuckles lightheartedly, though she pauses briefly to examine the face of the proclaimed professor she had not seen before. speaking of dimitri this man's hair was the very same blonde as his...

He met her eye grimly, wiping the grit of ash from his palm. "We will find them," he promised, rising to join her.

His jaw ground, glancing about the area, furious that these fiends had dared to intrude on such an innocent space - no, of course Caeda had left her mount behind, for what need would she have needed for it here? She was simply getting an ice cream.

Shaking his head, he replied briefly, "No, I have none of my own, but - ah! Excuse me!"

Wasting no time, he jogged forward, found a passing knight and gripped the reins of the horse - pressing a calming hand to the horse's snout, Dimitri glanced up at the knight. "We must borrow this. I can assure you that we will return it, but I'm afraid there is no time to explain!"