𝓮𝓵𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓪𝓷

“I wouldn’t say that’s my heart’s desire.” Nanna muttered a little, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Good lord, but her cousin could be so dramatic. She wondered if that was his own fault, or if Lene was proving to be something of a ‘positive’ influence on him after all.

“He’s not naive, either. It’s been hard for him too.” Nanna’s eyes narrowed for a brief second at those words, taking a deep breath in through her nose and trying to relax. Well, this conversation didn’t bode well.

“Naivety isn’t equal to idealism. He just wants to help as many people as possible – and I do too.” Nanna’s words grew a little heated, arms crossed in front of her as she tried to pull in her temper. So this was what her father always got amused and talked about her mother when she got angry. “He doesn’t need honing. In fact, I’m pretty sure he might teach you a few lessons.”

        Ares scowls, trying to fight back the anger that surged within him. It was difficult for him to accept, but Nanna was right, and he knew that, yet he couldn’t just abandon his ideals so easily. Before the death of his mother, Ares had been similar to Leif. He felt uneasy wielding Mystletainn and had hoped the sword’s reputation would be enough for him to earn respect. He was Nordion’s prince, after all, why wouldn’t others treat him with respect. Yet he had not been so fortunate. Seliph and Leif were both welcomed to their kingdoms with open arms, but Ares had to fight for his to respect him. 

        Yet it was not as simple as that. Javarro had taken Ares’ grief and twisted it. His mother had not understood the reason Sigurd and Eldigan had been pitted against one another, and her resentment towards Sigurd passed onto Ares. After losing his mother Ares had been left with nothing but a sword left for him by his father, and his resentment grew more. Javarro twisted that resentment and turned it into anger. Soon, Ares only knew revenge. It consumed him. Lene had been the one who tried to open his eyes the whole time.

           Perhaps if things had been different... Ares would have been more like Leif was now.

“Leif... he’s a good kid.”

             Ares says suddenly, closing his eyes so as to avoid Nanna’s gaze. A grimace takes to his face now, pained as he allows himself to be vulnerable for a moment.

     For a moment, the archbishop finds himself at a loss for words, not taken aback by the king but rather the mention of Thracia’s own ruler. Truth be told, Saias had thought himself to have not left much of an impression on the young lord– in the brief time he had spent with his army, the tactician never really opened up to the others within its ranks. He had been an outsider– one whose heart belonged to the cause, but felt too different to those around him; people who would still see him as one of the enemy. So, to hear that Leif himself recommended him, of all people, leaves Saias silent for a few moments– utterly uncertain as to how he might respond to that, if he should at all.      What in the world could this possibly be for?

          “…Of course– it is the least I can do,”

     He speaks slowly– hesitantly–, keeping back unnecessary details such as his involvement with that king’s militia or having met Leif before while the tactician’s mind continues to wallow in its own worry.

          “After all, you have ventured quite far to find someone like myself…”

      Surely, he would not suggest Saias for something dangerous or life-threatening– surely, the young monarch has more mercy than that. It is easy to place faith in him, but not in the one who has every right to strike him down with the same blade that took his own father’s life. Blue eyes flicker, if only to momentarily tear themselves away from Seliph’s features and focus on the priest still standing nearby– to silently ask that he leave the two to speak. The last thing the continent needs right now is more rumours.

          “What is your proposition, Lord Seliph?”

         A smile takes to Seliph’s face, pleased that Saias is willing to listen to his request. He can sense that the archbishop is nervous, and in truth, the sentiment is shared. Tensions were still high in the continent and he would not blame the other if he held some resentment towards him, or would rather spend the rest of his days out here in peace. His visit not only disturbed the archbishops’s duties, but his request could very well change his life. It was a large request, and one that did not come to the king lightly. He would be admitting his own weaknesses and insecurities, after all.

“I thank you for your willingness to hear me out. In truth, I had feared you may have declined my audience.”

           The king pauses, resting his hand on Tyrfing’s hilt - the blade that was his very birthright was the same blade used to cut down Emperor Arvis, as well as Julius, and countless others. He had once believed it was a blade of hope, yet like any other weapon it was nothing more than a tool for destruction.

“If I may speak frankly, archbishop, I require your assistance. I grew up in a remote village in Isaach, far away from the lands I now rule. Although I was raised with the expectation that I would one day ascend the throne, I have scarcely believed I could live up to the expectations of my people. It is only because of my allies that I am here today, yet I fear now that they are busy with their own ambitions.”

  THE SCARS OF ANGUISH mar the knight’s face. His gaze commands hers to meet him, and the peppy expression she wears waxes away to something more serious. Though there have been times where he would speak severely and she would continue to be his foil, this moment takes her armor and bares her for him.

“ You don’t need to be saying sorry to me. We were both in the wrong, don’t you think? ” she asks not seeking a real answer but to subtly urge him to agree with her. If this was one of the only ways to ease the shadow over his thoughts, then she would use it without a second thought. “ You’re being silly thinking you were selfish. I still don’t think you should be getting lost in revenge or whatever, but you always wanted it to give your mother peace. If that’s selfish, then I’m the worst dancer ever. ”

Curiosities about the late Lady Nordion surface but are quickly banished as Lene rises. She stands on the tips of her toes, reaching her thumb out to cradle his cheek. The pad of her thumb sweeps across it near the corner of his eye, to mimic wiping away the tears he won’t shed. 

“ Promise me one thing, Ares. You won’t go and let revenge destroy you. ”

She may be asking too much. She’s already asked him to never leave her. The gravity of such a request weighs on her, and her head knows the one she asks of him now is the better of the two for his own sake. Yet still she doesn’t take back that plea to have him remain by her, and she’s not entirely convinced the day will come where she ever shall.

Ares claims he’s the one who had been captured by selfish desires, but perhaps the truth has been that it was her who had been greed’s fool.

          Taking her hand in his own, the Nordion prince wears an uneasy smile. He wants to take the mask off, to shed a tear, proving to the dancer he cared, but it had been so long. It had become part of him, and without it, Ares would be vulnerable. He wasn’t ready to leave himself so exposed, so weak, not yet.

“No.” He responds, shaking his head in disagreement. He knew she was only trying to put herself in the wrong with him to lighten his burden, but he could not allow her to do that. He owed much to Javarro, it was only because he had taken Ares in that the people of Nordion - and those outside - had come to respect him. And yet, in many ways it was not the kind of respect he had hoped for as a child. They feared him, his anger. Javarro had twisted his urge for revenge to suit his own needs. Yet Lene had never expected such of him. She had only ever supported him, trying to show him the world was more than just revenge. 

“The fault was mine, and I ought to accept that. Lene, you have always believed in me, even when others did not. I thought I owed Javarro my life for believing in me - but it wasn’t me he wanted. It was my blade. The hatred that consumed me.”

His fingers ran through the locks of hair slamming elbows to the table, frustration clear through the gleam of his eyes. Kiran worked tirelessly preparing them for battle, researching the area and at the inventory needed for the Heroes plus find some manner in which to fund raise their finances; with the King demanding he do so. 

The summoner also had to deal with various Heroes whom were less than Heroic, and the constant pressure from those around.

He knew this was unhealthy but what choice did the summoner have? 

“It’s not that simple, Sigurd. I’d like to take a rest,” But if he had the Summoner would get yelled at. Disregarded. Insulted. Be seen as less than and incapable of doing his job. “I just… I just need to finish a few more things. Than I’ll think about resting.”

✦ ▪          Sigurd listens patiently to the summoner’s words before taking a few strides towards him. The summoner was around his age, or so he assumed. In truth, Sigurd was not sure how old he was meant to be... Not since he had been summoned after death. Still, such problems were not the fault of the summoner.“I understand that there must be much pressure on you, however... you must understand how unhealthy this is. You are working yourself thin - doing so endangers our army.”

Two new muses have been added to the roster. Ayra from Genealogy of the Holy War will be making her debut on the blog soon once icons and her biography are complete. Sylvain from Three Houses is being moved to this blog from @iincitatus as I do not feel his character is deserving of his own blog as Inigo does.

I apologise for the lack of activity lately, as I’m sure many of you are busy with Three Houses yourself I hope it has not been too problematic and with Sylvain moving here I will be more active here. Thanks for your patience.

“Ares…”

Gods, but it was so hard for her to talk about this. She hesitated, drumming her fingers along her staff and biting her lip - what was one even meant to say to him? It was still almost entirely pure luck that they hadn’t ended up on the wrong side of the war from each other permanently, and now…well…

“Could you and Lord Leif perhaps, ah…get along better?” She said, weakly. “You never seem to talk to each other and it’s…well, it hurts me to see two people I desperately want involved in my life ignore each other so.”

✦ ▪          A scoff escapes the knight’s mouth before he can catch himself, and he find himself biting his tongue, for Nanna’s sake, rather than his own. He had no objection to Nanna’s courting of the Thracian King, she was happy, and he did not care to bother himself with the ins and outs of their relationship. The cold hard truth was that Leif had been there for her while he had not. In part, he was jealous of the Thracian. He had grown up with the only family the knight had left, something that oft troubled him. His memories of his father were little to none, and his mother had not been the same after his death. To learn that he had family brought Ares much joy.

               He scowls to himself, and considers how best to explain his problem to Nanna. Leif had achieved no small feat in unifying the warring nations of Leonster and Manster, and for that Ares did not wish to undermine him, yet he was still a child. He was weak, something he could not afford to be as king. Such weakness bothered Ares, especially if he was to trust Leif with the care of his only surviving family.

“THAT is your heart’s desire, then?”

               He asks rhetorically, sighing somewhat to himself.

“Then I shall... TRY. Our fathers were once close friends... Lord Quan... and Lord Sigurd, too. The three trained in the knights academy together, that is what you told me... However, Leif CANNOT continue as NAIVE as he is, I shall hone him into a hardened knight.”

  ❝ Heehee, are you still worried about me? ❞ IT’S TOUCHING, it really is. Lene takes the time to put her makeup away after caking it on over some bruises from her time spent in Darna’s prison. Her attention is brought to Ares, looking up at him with one of her signature bright smiles. 

❝ What about you? It’s not mercenary life, but we’ve got our hands in something bigger now. ❞

✦ ▪          The knight’s usual pout rests on his face, and his eyebrows sharpen watching her apply her makeup. He moves slowly towards her, placing his hand upon her own, kneeling down beside her so their eyes meet.

“Lene...” 

               He ushers in a gentle tone, ANGER twisting the sorrow and pain of seeing her hurt into BITTERNESS. He stands suddenly, turning away from her to hide the tears that begin to take to his eyes, and he SCOWLS.

“I am sorry. I was so focused on REVENGE that I did not notice the way those SCOUNDRELS treated you. If I had been less focused on my own selfish DESIRES, you would not have...”

               Ares shakes his head, and he turns to face the dancer once more, eyes focused on her own.

“You are right. We are part of something more, and that can mean only one thing. I MUST grow STRONGER . I MUST PROTECT the things that matter most to me. You... The restoration of house Nordion. With MYSTLETAINN, I shall enact REVENGE on those who have sought the destruction of Jugdral.”

     To say that the past few months have been easy on the archbishop would be a large understatement. From revealing his lineage to the public– of his relation to the late Lord Arvis, and proof that he bears the brand belonging to such a bloodline– in an attempt to keep those of ill will from seizing control of the trampled duchy, to actually rebuilding all that has been lost to years of war. On most days, Saias finds himself overseeing various things or speaking with the people, and on others such as this one, he remains cooped up in his cathedral, tending to the religious duties still expected of him. So, perhaps it is unsurprising that no priest in the land is without any their own set of jobs to carry out, and that the one Seliph chooses to speak with first happens to not be the archbishop, but instead one of the lower members of the clergy, and one that had just been leaving the extravagant building at that. 

     The priest nods, with a few, shaky words escaping from his form, asking the young king to wait there while he ventures back into the cathedral and fetches the person that he seeks. It would be terribly rude to make someone of his station find Saias on his lonesome, after all– especially when it would be far easier for him to find the archbishop himself, and would spare Seliph the agony of attempting to navigate the building, or endure being fussed over by the common-folk within its walls. Regardless, the priest returns but a few minutes later, lagging a few steps behind the man in question, and after a few seconds of silence, Saias finally speaks up.

          “…Lord Seliph, I presume? I must apologise for making you wait. It is an honour to finally meet you,”

     By all means, he should be filled with anger the moment that blue eyes fall upon the visage of the boy that took the life of his father and is responsible for death of his half-brother, yet nothing of the sort begins to spark. How could be hold a grudge against him– the one who liberated the land from the Loptuous cult? That being said, standing before the young king does bring about a feeling of anxiety, for the archbishop does not know his reason for coming here of all places, and the back of Saias’ mind cannot help but worry that Seliph might have caught wind of his lineage, and came to investigate, harbouring anger towards him instead.      The tactician’s voice remains gentle and calm, even if the grasp on his staff tightens a little.

          “–However, I must ask… what brings you here? Is something troubling you?”

✦ ▪          The king smiles, and awaits the priest’s return with eagerness, and some hesitance. He attempts to study the cathedral in which he stands - the decorations and the architecture which made up the building. Truly, it was a miracle this building had withstood the war - as it was with any building, the king thinks to himself. He had witnessed entire towns reduced to ruins during his travels. Those imagines remained with him, reminding him what his duty as imperial king was to be. 

          Putting on a false demeanor, the king attempts to fake confidence as the man he sought out appeared suddenly. He’d heard the whispers and rumours from his court - Saias bore relation to the late king Arvis and his son, Julius. To this end, the two were surely to be natural enemies, yet Seliph must remind himself of what his father told him once. The world was not as simple as black and white, or good and bad. Other factors came into play. Julius was once an ordinary, albeit sickly, child.. Arvis, too, had been a good man, once. Even if Saias was related to the two, that did not make him evil, and all his good acts proved as such.

“The honour is all mine, archbishop.”

          He replies with a smile, assuring the other of his well-meaning intentions.

“I come on the recommendation of King Leif of Thracia - I do believe you met him, once, long ago... It is because of him that I have come with a proposition, if you would be willing to hear me out.”

@clysicn  ;    ♡’d  .

glowing  ;    wendy  shifted  the  flowers  in  her  hand  ,  grinning  at  the  marquess  .

    ‘  lord  eliwood  !    has  your        day  of  devotion  celebration        been  going  swell  ?  ’

✦ ▪          The day of devotion came around but once a year, a chance for one to express their gratitude towards another. Platonic, romantic, it mattered not what the feelings felt were, today one could express their gratitude to another for the bond they shared. It was a glorious day, and one Eliwood was glad he could attend. Festivity filled the air, and smiles could be seen in all directions as one gifted their beloved a heartfelt present. There were so many Eliwood held dearly in his heart, and today, he could finally express that love. 

               He’s admiring a bouquet at a flower stall when he hears the summoner’s voice beside him, and turns with a smile upon his face.

    “Ah - Lady Wendy, I am glad to see you here! 

     The festival is truly magical! 

✦ ▪          For most of his life, Ares believed he had no family. He could still remember the sorrow he felt when his mother told him his father died - the anger that surged through his holy blood that day. He could remember his mother dying, and being taken in by a group of merciless mercenaries. Meeting Nanna, and Diarmuid too, changed that. He now had family. The house Nordion had hope, still. It was their duty to restore Agustria, and make their parents proud.

✦ ▪          As much as it pained him to admit, Ares found difficulty in talking to others, in opening up to them. Javarro had expected him to be a merciless killer, and with the demon blade Mystletainn, it was a role he could not falter in. Meeting Seliph had changed much in his life - not least the ideal that his father was not sworn enemies with Sigurd. His whole perception on reality had changed, and he struggled to find comfort in his new reality. If he had any chance on changing that, he would need to learn how to be more like Lene... It was this mindset that caused him to interrupt his training to seek her out.

“Lene... Are you holding up well?”

✦ ▪          For years, now, Jugdral had been engulfed in the flames of war. It had taken him some time to realise it, but Seliph now understood that good and bad were not as black and white as they had first seemed to him. It was his belief that Arvis had murdered his father in cold blood. He now understood that he had no choice. Even though he had avenged his father, nothing had changed. It didn’t bring him back, and it didn’t change his past. If things had gone differently, perhaps they could have been friends. It was this ideology that pushed Seliph to push aside his prejudices of the past. Under the Loptuous cult, many people suffered from all different nations. Now, Jugdral was free. As the Imperial King of Grannvale, it was his duty to see that peace kept true.

               Whispers of a bishop whose tactical abilities were renown across the land had reached Seliph. If such a man were truly real, perhaps he could enlist his aid. Leif, the now king of Thracia, had informed Seliph he had met Saias a few times, and that he was a bishop of the Bragi Church no less. It had taken some time to track him down, but finally, Seliph had the opportunity to meet him.