wayward bard

Nighttime Maneuvers

Nervous? Perhaps a little but not for her own sake. Elincia held a quiet confidence in her own abilities these days, bolstered by both her studies and the two bitter wars she had fought in before coming here. She also trusted her partner. He assured her he was perfectly capable and she doubted the Church of Seiros would have sent either of them here if they thought neither would return.

No, it was the consequences of possible failure looming over the shoulders that plagued her mind. The death of innocents was never something she could swallow lightly.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to lighten the mood. Elincia had done enough research into her partner - and talked to enough of his friends and allies. A little levity is what she needs right now. She only hopes he can forgive her after this.

“Of course I know your name! Oh, I’ve always wanted to meet you!” Elincia gushes, dashing over to him and closing the distance. It feels a little inappropriate to wrap her arms around his waist, giggling. “Grandfather, you are just as I imagined. Just as father described.”

“There’s absolutely no way I’m leaving you behind if something happens though. I’m capable with magic as well as the sword,” Elincia rocks backwards on the balls of her feet. Her smile is wide and bright, like a child in a sweet shop. She hopes she’s selling this well enough - Lewyn hasn’t said a word in response yet. It wouldn’t do to forget their mission, either. House Marika’s true heir was caught in the crossfire tonight and they had to act quickly - Elincia’s jape could wait until later to truly develop. “Not that I don’t trust how skilled you are. I’d be foolish not to - the legends surrounding you are rather grand. Just know I won’t let you die. For my sake as much as yours. I hope you’ll treat me with the same kindness, grandfather.”

“If it’s alright by you, I’ll take to the courtyard? I’m more comfortable taking an aerial position and it will be easier to manoeuvre my pegasus outside,” unfortunately that would leave Lewyn to fight in close quarters. At least until he managed to lure the assassins outside. “We should have a signal for each other though. If you need back up in there or they don’t follow after you, I’ll dismount and join you. Likewise, if they take the other path and I’m overwhelmed, I can call for your aid.”

“Grandfather?” Lewyn spits back, doing a double-take of the situation. He’d wanted to keep quiet during this mission, but can’t help himself when she makes such an accusation. But with how many people have walked up to him to stake a claim at knowing him, Lewyn knows better than to question it. He rubs his temples with his hand, the growing headache of his family pains finally catching up to him.

“You sure are grown up for a grandkid of mine... ‘Guess that ain’t the first weird thing to happen here.” After a sigh, he’s already accepted his fate. At the very least, she doesn’t seem mad at him. That’s something he can appreciate. 

“Mm. Before we head off, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” He continues, holding up a hand in protest. Elincia’s spoken a lot already--more than enough to trap him in her prank--and he doesn’t want her flying out before answering a few important questions, “I’m obviously a lot younger than the Lewyn you know, mm? So tell me, er, granddaughter, what am I like when I’m an old man? My hairs turn gray? Do I stay alive and kicking or just alive?

And most importantly, what’s your name? Can’t have much of a signal if I don’t know what to call you.”

His swagger returns to his face as Elincia begins to become familiar with him. His arms cross, a sign of growing comfort, and he gives her body a serious once-over. Green hair... Pegasus knight... Adept in magic... Yep, this is definitely a grandkid of his. The light tongue-and-cheek of her nature can probably be attributed to her grandmother, too. 

In other words, Elincia’s well on her way to suckering him.

Saint Seiros has come to town! Yep, you heard right. While Garreg Mach’s seen its fair share of impostors in the past, none so far have had the gall to impersonate the church’s founder herself. Whoever this lady is, she at the very least looks and sounds the part - she bears a striking beauty beyond words, and a commanding presence to go along with it. Is she here to stage a coup? Or maybe she’s just after the church-sanctioned taxes… Whatever the case, you need to land this broad and her impressively large following in jail like right this second. [Grants Faith +1]

Another day, another mission. Lewyn had looked upon this request like any other, but when he read its contents, he was left in disbelief. Another imposter causing trouble in a land he finds himself calling home... Could this be fate mocking him? Or perhaps Forseti found a way to plop this person right in front of his nose to watch how he’d react. It could be a test, too, to judge how he’d dispatch of a cheap knockoff of himself gathering a following. Joke’s on him if that last part is true--Lewyn’s known for a while now that another him has been giving him a reputation in Jugdral. He would use this knowledge to skew the results of any potential test, giving a divine peanut gallery what they want to see. This was all some questionably-sane speculation, but at the time he figured if he could the handle the situation without getting emotional, he’d at least prove to himself that he isn’t dangerous. 

That, and his service would be greatly appreciated by the academy. 

So he signed himself on, was provided a partner (a fellow Abyssian. Lucky!), and sent out alongside her. Together they walked into town. Not a word left his lips for most of the trek into town, for Lewyn was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to feel very social. At his core, he held a special grudge against those that would commit foul acts in another’s name. Would he be able to resist it flaring up in the heat of the moment, or would he be consumed by misplaced grief and rage? Only time can tell.

At present, they’re closing in on their target. It’s easy for Lewyn to tell, at least, due to the disturbing clamor their followers raise in their wake. The sound of his shoes treading across the cobbled street is drowned out entirely by their hollering. That’s annoying. His lips bunch up at one side in mild irritation. There are probably a good number of innocent villagers having their peaceful lives disrupted by this riot. Not to mention those foolish enough to actually believe this sham Seiros.

This has to end, now. The commonfolk shouldn’t have to suffer from whatever sick joke is being played on them. Fists ball up inside the pockets of a bard’s outfit, and Lewyn’s pace hastens. This sour attitude keeps up until they’re in earshot of the fake--whose preaching elicits a stop from Lewyn. He decides now that he’d at least introduce himself to his partner, and go over a bit of game plan,

“Hey, the name’s Lewyn. If you’re not too fond of silence, you’ve got my apologies for givin’ you the cold shoulder back there,” but with this riot, her ears can’t possibly be starved for noise, “Just wanna wrap this one up nice and quick.”

“On that note, got any ideas you feel like sharin’? I’d like to not have to resort to violence if that’s alright with you, but know that if push comes to shove, I can hold my own in a fight.” 

If not, he’s more than happy to do things his way. Any saint worth their salt ought to have an appropriate holy weapon or two. If he can point out any flaws in whatever false artifacts the imposter carries, that should be more than enough to strip them of their following and make apprehending them a trivial matter.

Status: Passed

Skill Points Gained: 1

Activity Check > Any +1 > Allocated to faith +1

Skill Changes:

Windball Fight!

Morgen laughed as the blizzard collided with the edge of her arm, flopping back into the snow on her back. She was having a lot of fun, but she was also really tired. She kind of wanted to go inside and just rest now. Perhaps there was some hot cocoa in the dining hall for her to go get, because she was FREEZING to the very bone.

“Is it alright if I call a draw right? I’m getting real cold.” Morgen was more used to the hot Plegian sun, not snow and cold. 

“Or we could just say you win?”

In hindsight, a ceasefire should’ve been expected.

Just as quickly as Lewyn whipped up his divine wind, he had it rest. When Forseti died down, all the snow it picked up began to gently drift back to the earth. For a few moments there, it looked like it was really, truly snowing--the tiny frozen crystals glistening in their flight. They eventually settled, and when they did, Lewyn extended a hand to Morgen’s hiding spot. 

“A draw it is, then. Let’s pick this up next year, when the snow is nice and fresh like this again. We’ll each have the chance to learn some new techniques that way, and who knows? maybe you’ll be the one to surprise me.” 

Should she take his hand, she’d be pulled to her feet. And even if she stood on her own, Lewyn would walk back with her to the academy. He wondered if he took things a little too far--or if the use of his family’s sacred heirloom in this fight was appropriate--but ultimately he thought it was all in good fun. Morgen laughed at the attack, which served to reassure him. 

Momentum Mori

“You’re into me!?”  He’s never said anything like that before.  Even back in Augustria when they had their little fling.  He said she was cute, he let her stay with him, he didn’t beat her but he never said anything about being interested.  As much as she convinced herself that he really did like her and he really did want her around, she knows now that she could’ve been any girl and it wouldn’t have made much of a different.

Something about him is different now.  He talks about the ‘real’ her.  He’s gentle as he tucks her hair behind her ear.  She’d only had attention like this from a man once before and she had given up all hope that she might ever find it again.  Especially from Lewyn.

Lewyn pulls her in tight again and she stops and thinks about how different it is from the times he has held her before.  She can’t quite explain it exactly but she feels safe.  He really, actually might just genuinely want her.  It’s terrifying and exhilarating.

Silvia nods when he offers to hold her hand, at a loss for words that is so very unlike her.  She has always wanted this.  A public acknowledgement of affection that’s proof that he isn’t ashamed to be with her.  Something that’s more than just fooling around behind closed doors.  “Can we pretend I’m a real lady?  Sip on fancy champagne and dance like nobles?”

She doesn’t have a place to stay or a bed to sleep on but it’s worth it for this.  Silvia has lived through worse and it will all be worth it if it means even just one magical night with Lewyn.

“Sure can. I’ll introduce you as ‘Lady Silvia, the princess who stole my heart.’ Just make sure you hold down those drinks,” he’s beaming now, almost uncontrollably so. A smile is a staple on Lewyn’s face, but around Silvia--on this special night--he couldn’t wipe it off if he tried. It’s funny how things got to be this way; if he never ran off and abandoned the throne, he would never have met her. For all he knows, he could’ve been chained to a stuck-up bride wanting nothing more than the title of Silesse’s Queen. Things are better this way--much better. With Silvia, at least he can rest easy knowing that she actually likes him. “Last thing anyone’d want is the spittin’ image of refined tastes passed out on the dance floor.”

Her hand is taken into his, and it fits like a key in its lock. A bard’s fingers hold many things throughout life, but if Lewyn could hold only this for the rest of his, he figures that wouldn’t be a bad gig. A small squeeze is given to the Bragi girl. Perhaps it’d remind her that her dreams are becoming reality, or send some of that long-repressed love from his body to hers. In any case, he’s ecstatic to be touching something he once thought he lost. The tight grip around Silvia’s fingers would be a reminder that from now on, there’s no letting go. 

And all that’s left is to exit. The two take their time, so that Silvia can steel herself, and Lewyn may silently thank whatever god brought her here. His taller head is weighed down to rest on hers as they walk--filled with thoughts of what just happened tonight. The rumors of the Goddess Tower have proven to be true to Lewyn. Love has been brought to two souls once destined to be forever apart. 

Camellias for a Captain

She does not hesitate a moment longer and throws her arms around him with a happy sigh. “That is lovely advice, Lewyn. I have had to think about similar things more and more often but your friend truly has a beautiful way of phrasing it. So, so much has happened over these years. I do not even know where to begin explaining! I am just happy that you still hold me dear in your heart.”

Deirdre has never held hate or anger in her heart toward Arvis. Even after learning that it had been her friends and loved ones he executed for treason. She has seen the depths of his soul and knows that there is so much more to him than a cruel executioner. Her heart may break every day for those that were lost but she believes him that it was what he felt he must do. Would Lewyn be able to look past that and see the man he really is? Sigurd has.

Each face returned to her that was lost to the flames or as a result of that terrible day fills Deirdre with hope. It is as though the gods themselves have found it possible to forgive what happened!

“I had not realized you had an affinity for flowers,” she changes the subject sheepishly as she realizes where they are. “I would have tried to include you when I would search for wild flowers to pick for Lord Sigurd if I had known!”

He’s knocked back some by her forceful hug, but pulls Deirdre into a similar embrace anyways. He knows that actually feeling his body is probably a big deal for her, what with her bearing witness to his death and all. The friendly squeeze he gives back tells Deirdre that yes, indeed, this is Lewyn. He’s in the flesh, present now, and you can touch him.

“Aha, so that’s how it looks, eh? Sorry if you got excited about it, but flowers still ain’t my area of expertise,” he explains, allowing the two to naturally break free and stand apart, “They’re for... Someone else. An old friend. Never got to thank her for all her hard work, so I’ve convinced myself that this is better than nothin’.”

“It seems rather silly, I know, but when the dust settles even I can find a way to turn into a complete sap.” 

Lewyn laughs at himself for that, moving an awkward hand to scratch the back of his neck. He coughs a little, embarrassed to ask for help. But, since this is all for Annad, he’s got to honor her properly. Besides, reaching out to others in his time of need would be what she would’ve wanted. 

Momentum Mori

Silvia remembers the first time they traveled together.  They had fun together performing and messing around.  He called her cute, payed attention to her, and held her close.  She’d never been with the same guy for that long until him.  She’d never had anyone be nice to her like that before either.  It really felt like he actually wanted her around but he tried to split as soon as Sigurd gave him an excuse to.

But they both grew over the course of the war.  They both found love and settled down for as long as they were able.  She aches for that kind of stability again.

“I won’t need to run away again long as I’m with you.”

She stays as close as she can to him and her hands slide down to rest on his chest.  The beat of his heart under her palm serves as as steady reminder that he is here and he is real and he is alive.  

“It’s a deal Lewyn.  But if you ever try splittin’ on me I’m goin’ right to Edain and tellin’ her!”

Ah, threats. How very ‘Silvia’. Lewyn’s used to hearing these kinds of things, so he’s able to laugh off the idea of getting tag-teamed by both the dancer and the diviner, but he wonders if someone else would’ve taken this sort of thing the wrong way. Even if they would, it doesn’t matter now. Nobody else will ever have to deal with Silvia clinging onto their arm now that she’s here with Lewyn. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Just remember that this ain’t gonna be like last time. I’m actually into you now--the real you--so I won’t be goin’ anywhere any time soon.” Always a tease, that Lewyn. His hand briefly leaves Silvia’s body to gentle tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Though he’s quick to make light of their situation, he wants the dancer to know he deeply cares for her. This small gesture is an easy way of doing that. “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re sick of seeing me either.” 

He’s then quick to pull her into another hugging embrace. The two had been conversing about some heavy topics for a good while now, and Lewyn feels as though they’d need a little something extra to lighten the mood. His face, though it retains its charming aura, has a more sentimental touch to it now. There’s simply something about this dancer girl that gradually unearths a softer side to Lewyn. 

Not So Easy Breezy A Reunion

From here: Desire for a stamp (ask)

🔥⊰⊰⊰ ――

                    Easy now…”Oh?” He’d gotten carried away again. “Yeah…my bad.” Leave it to Lewyn to be realistic. The grounding clasp of his shoulder by Lewyn warranted a quick flinch, never having expected the sudden clasp. It was nice, really, that Lewyn cared enough to try to work him out of his own misery; one day, Azelle would have to return the favor. Azelle’s own hand patted the one atop his shoulder almost in a joking manner, chuckling at the silly action, hoping to raise his spirits and pull them both into lighter times. 

                    That made sense, he supposed; good-natured people don’t just burn down the capital of their own kingdom without so much as a warning…unless there was a warning there that Azelle just hadn’t picked up on. He didn’t know, not really. What was going through Arvis’ mind that day, he’d never know, not unless he dared to ask his elder brother…but that sounded less than appealing at the moment, almost repulsive. Maybe one day he’d approach the topic and get an actual answer. Maybe one day. But…what Lewyn said, it made sense. Arvis had always been kind to Azelle, even when the younger Velthomer hadn’t really seen much reason for the elder to be; he was, after all, a bastard child. Every book he’d read― and in some noble houses that he’d seen― the illegitimate child was kicked around like a pawn, but Arvis had never done that to him, had never made him feel anything less than loved. Maybe…Maybe he hadn’t given Arvis enough credit. Maybe he really did need to ask his brother what had happened. Maybe Arvis wasn’t in a good spot and Azelle had just been ignorant of the possibility that the man he’d idolized could be…well, not perfect, not in a perfect place. 

                   “Yeah, I reckon,” Azelle nodded. “But…when someone like Lord Sigurd― honorable and earnest― gets accused of being a traitor and then the entire kingdom seeks your demise just because you’re allied with him, well, it doesn’t really bode well. It kinda makes you wonder what was going through the Grannvalian courtsmen’s minds.” How deep the corruption ran, he didn’t know; he couldn’t even begin to guess. He hadn’t really been privy to noble affairs in his youth, so if such things had tainted Lord Sigurd into being deemed a traitor― though plausible― he wouldn’t have been able to tell. It sounded feasible, like something out of a tale, but he wasn’t privy to such things. 

                  At Lewyn’s praise, his ears tipped pink, but when Lady Edain was mentioned, his cheeks blemished with a rosy hue. Impressive? Lewyn thought that was impressive? That was something, sure, but it was more the genuine fear of losing someone than anything else; the world needed someone like Lady Edain. She’d kept them all alive on the battlefield, running from the law. 

                 “You think so?” He chuckled. “Well, that means a lot, Lewyn.” 

                 There was something about that last quip, something that baffled Azelle. He couldn’t tell if it was Lewyn being his typically witty self or if there was something more to it, something that stood to ask Azelle not to forget him, and the young Velthomer couldn’t ignore the way his heart grew heavy at the implication…assuming his guess was right. This time, Azelle set his hand atop Lewyn’s shoulder. 

                 “I won’t.” He reassured with a smile. “After all, I still need somebody to teach me Silesse’s famed wind magicks.” 

The mention of Grannvale’s court is particularly striking to Lewyn. All of his thoughts surrounding Belhalla were about Arvis and that mysterious, shadowy figure that came to pick him off at the very end. Never once had he considered the role other authorities played in the matter. Were they manipulated by the same strange source? Or is Grannvale still blissfully aware that something lurks just out of sight? Lewyn knows not of what’s happened to Jugdral in his absence, but he’s sure of one thing: what should have been going through those courtsmen’s heads is an arrow. 

“Think nothing of it,” He finally says, after some more healthy speculation, “Just making smalltalk is all. Besides, my motives are as selfish as they come; helpin’ out the folks in Sigurd’s brigade is just my way of easing the pain of my losses.” A half-true statement at best. While it’s true that Lewyn’s not entirely altruistic, there’s also a part of him that feels he doesn’t deserve to be praised. He’s failed too many people too many times now, and with what he’s heard of his reputation, has effectively landed himself back at square one. Until he wizens up for a change, Lewyn’ll stay humble. 

Laughter breathes out of the bard when Azelle jokes about Silessian magic. If he’s being quite honest with himself, he’d never expected a bit of sentimental humor from this guy. Having his expectations betrayed makes reaching out to him all the more worthwhile, though. “Spells from my homeland, eh? Find me again after this ball, and I’ll tell you all there is to know. A word of advice, though: prepare yourself for the cold. If you can last a few hours out in the snow and wind, you’ll master the craft in no time at all.” 

Having said his peace, Lewyn treats himself to what’s left of his drink. However, after feeling inspired--and perhaps a little hopeful--following his conversation with Azelle, he feels he no longer needs it. As the two become more familiar with each other, the extra edge that vintage gives him starts to become less of a necessity. In any case, it’s best to finish what he started. After the last drop hits his tongue, a grin goofier than most tugs at his lips. Might as well start applying that logic to the rest of his life, too. 

The goblet is returned with all the other used up kitchen items, to be sent back and washed. This is Lewyn’s way of saying that drink would be his last, that he’d face the rest of the night head on and without the assistance of liquid courage. 

Of Course You Have Green Hair and Talk to Edain

slowly but surely the orchestra begins to wind down, the dance between the two slowing down as well. “he already lost his mother, didn’t he..? just be there for him when you can, while you still can. he’ll appreciate the effort you put in now in the future when you’re gone.”  she can tell he was truly taking her (admittedly rather stern) advice into consideration, so she relents and loosens up a little.

“…in any case i’m happy to see you again. and i hope you’ll stay here for at least a little while longer. i would hate for this reunion between us to be so short.”

“I know I ain’t got the cleanest record when it comes to stickin’ around, but I’ll make a real effort this time.” With his final closing thought delivered, Lewyn can sigh all his built-up tension out and relax. For a few moments he loses himself to the dwindling sound of the song, feeling out the last few beats of their dance in earnest. 

Of Course You Have Green Hair and Talk to Edain

she understands, vaguely at least, that the relationship he has with his son isn’t the best. “… if it helps, you’re a better father for even just thinking that.” she tries to reassure him though she isn’t sure how much he’ll really take her words into thought.

she sees past the way he tries to joke his way out of the conversation, as if it’ll hurt less that way, so she replies back to him seriously. “…i think if you visit him now and then it could work out. don’t leave him on his own, don’t become more absent in his life than you already have.” she almost glares up at him, squinting her eyes. “you will take this seriously, right? i don’t have to lecture you about how important familial relationships are?”

Lewyn can’t help but laugh a little at Edain’s sentiment. She knows so few of the many details surrounding him and Ced, yet she’s able to offer something supportive all the same. He’s glad he can count on at least that.

“Tragically enough, thoughts ain’t gonna fix my relationship with my kid. If they could, loads of parents would get off doin’ all sorts of stuff to their families.” 

At her borderline scolding, however, the Silessian chokes up. His face looked like it had prepared another clever one-liner or bit of dry humor, but it’s now caught in the act. “Ahah... Sure will, Edain. I’ve even been thinkin’ about taking him out to town if he’ll let me. Poor kid’s probably got a lot goin’ on in his life... He could use a break or three.” 

Momentum Mori

The is a moment where he pauses and hesitates and Silvia starts to panic.  This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.  She’s trying to kiss him.  He’s never turned away her kisses before.  Silvia has no idea what to do but the moment ends and his lips find hers.

Everything is the way it should be.  His arms are around her, there lips are locked together, and if she closes her eyes she can pretend like this is real.  

The time they’ve spent apart from each other is clearly noticeable to Silvia.  They’d each moved on to someone else plus the time spent to get here.  She doesn’t remember him blushing like that before or really taking the time to look at her face.  She doesn’t remember so much passion or longing.  It’s been too long.  Her memory must have faded.

Lewyn breaks the kiss but Silvia doesn’t let him stray too far.  Her fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck and she leans her whole self against him.  He says he’s not going anywhere but she knows it isn’t true.  Everyone leaves.  Even the good ones.  The good ones make it hurt the worst.  

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” She warns before pulling herself up onto her toes to kiss him again.  If he’s kissing her he can’t fill her mind with pretty words and dreams of a future that’s way too good to be true.

Promises he can’t keep, now that hurts in just the right way. Lewyn’s lips part to say something in protest--perhaps willing to explain how the situation they see themselves in is far different from back then--but that just gives Silvia an opportunity to shut them with hers. 

The time, Silvia’s embrace is muddled with the words she prefaced it with. Much of that vigor and spark from before is lost as Lewyn’s mind focuses on what she said. Is there really no way to make this work? Taking her for granted in the past has clearly hurt both of them. Mulling it over during their exchange, Lewyn remembers that he’s more mature now: he’s settled down once before, so what’s stopping him from at least sticking by Silvia’s side? 

“Mm, you’ve got a point there...” He finally says, thinking he’s found a way to snidely bounce back from all this, “Promises don’t work for either of us, do they? Then how ‘bout a deal instead? Never broken one of those before, and it’ll help keep the two of us together.” 

“Here’s how it works: we travel as a pair. No more gettin’ separated like last time. If you need to head out to even the remotest hole of the world, I’m comin’ with.” 

Momentum Mori

“Nah.  It’s Edain’s,”  Silvia admits sheepishly.  She feels silly like this.  The dress is too big.  It hangs loose on her thin frame and is too long to the point that she has to pay attention to keep from stepping on its hem.  At least the length is enough to hide her beat up dancing sandals.  All of Edain’s shoes had been way too big.

She waits for some sort of teasing remark.  Something sarcastic meant to get under her skin just enough to rib her but not actually insult her.  It doesn’t come.  Instead, his voice stays soft and serious.  She’s pretty!?

Sivlia freezes, her heart pounding in her chest. She looks up at him and their eyes meet. Does he really think she could be pretty enough to look like a princess? Does it even matter if he means it or not?

She’s lost him before but she isn’t about to let it happen again and there’s only one way she knows to convince a man to stay just a little longer. The hand on his shoulder slides up into his hair and urges him to lean down to meet her in a kiss.

Ah, Edain. That certainly explains a lot. It’s definitely more of her style than Silvia’s, but Lewyn isn’t complaining. It does genuinely look good on her, but more importantly, it’s an important milestone for Silvia. All he’s ever seen in her is her dancer getup, and though it is flashy, it hurts to know that she feels it’s a necessity. 

Maybe he could take her shopping one day. A few nights at a tavern should cover the costs for one good trip, and he’d get to learn about Silvia’s true taste in fashion.

But those thoughts have to take a seat on the backburner for now. 

Lewyn’s seen this move before--he knows what’s coming. Way back then he felt nothing of it, just simply moved in to show the girl his stuff and have some fun with her. But now... Now things are totally different. It weirds him out, how fast his blood circulates through his body. A good chunk of it, for one of the first times in his life, pools up in his cheeks. Scarlet hues burn through pale skin, causing a jaw to drop and pupils to dilate. This is happening. It’s happened before, but not with the sort of feeling Lewyn has in his gut. 

His head begins to naturally veer toward Silvia’s, and Lewyn has to stop himself. For the briefest of moments, he is starstruck--at a loss for what to do. Is this what he really wants? Looking back now, he’d never stopped to ask himself this question with Silvia before. She came so easily to him that he never had to. There was nothing he needed to actually do or commit to in order to garner her affection; just a few tender words and she was putty in his hands. 

After they’d been apart for so long, and Lewyn learned fully of the tragedy that is Silvia, does he really want her? The thought burns away at his soul while he pauses. Factoring in both the good and the bad, if he leans in for that kiss, she’ll be what he has for the rest of his life. All of her.

Like grains of sand in a shrinking hourglass, time slows to a crawl in the Goddess Tower. It takes a quarter of a second for Lewyn to shut his eyes, but with every thought racing through his head, it feels like a week. It takes half that to tilt his head and lower his guard onto her, but it feels like a month. His lips part, and the moment they do, he realizes just how much he really loves her.

A damn shame they had to be apart this long for him to realize. 

Lewyn’s arms leave Silvia’s body to wrap around her waist. She’s then pulled in closer, and they lock into a kiss. All of that pining and longing for this silly little dancer girl pours out of him like a monsoon. He’s more passionate than his cool appearance would suggest, and perhaps more passionate than when they had first met.  For the first time, Silvia lights a real spark in Lewyn. When they’re done, his head slowly retracts to a neutral state.

Not So Easy Breezy A Reunion

From here: Desire for a stamp (ask)

🔥⊰⊰⊰ ――

                   You tell that brother of yours he could work on his aim… Azelle couldn’t help the way his clutch tightened around the glass of his drink, eyes closing, teeth grit together; it all hurt so much, but what could he do? Sarcastic as Lewyn’s remark was, Azelle wouldn’t dare to even consider advising anything to Arvis; he’d not listen anyway. He couldn’t listen back when Azelle had tried to quell the potential risk of Belhalla being ignited under the flames of the Roten Ritter, but how far had that gotten him? Last he checked, too many people perished at the expense of his own pitiful negotiating skills. He wouldn’t even speak to Arvis again until the man had the audacity to even try to apologize and not just brush aside the fact that young Azelle had witnessed more death in one day than he had in his entire life.

                  His shoulders fell from where they had once tensed up, and his head hung almost in lowly shame…almost― if not for his clenched jaw, he would surely have appeared to be mourning, remorseful. But no. He was filled with anger, with a rage so wrathful that it terrified Azelle to think he could be possible of possessing such rage. Rage…Had Arvis’ rage caused Belhalla? Or was it betrayal? Azelle hadn’t been privy to know; he dared not even approach the topic whenever he would speak with Arvis. Now, he might never know why his elder half-brother lit the capital up in flames with danced in mockery― flames full of life and dance taunting corpses that could do such things no longer. 

                 “Well I’m glad he did miss!” Azelle declared, nearly slamming down his glass goblet until he hesitated just before the glass met the counter of where the punch bowl sat; vandalism was not a good look. “And he needs to miss every shot he takes henceforth!” He closed his eyes, an exhausted sigh heavily falling from his lips. “I can’t stand what he did to you or to the others.” 

                 Rage…It was all so conflicting. One minute, he felt as if he wanted to tear Belhalla’s initiator apart. The other, well, he couldn’t do what Arvis did, he couldn’t kill someone because they’d wronged him. He sipped from his cool glass― as if to cool down his boiling blood. 

                “But forget about it.” He whispered. “I just wish I’d gotten to know you all better before that day…hadn’t taken for granted the possibility of surviving when seldom did the others.” 

                A dry chuckle fell from his lips, and he sipped again from his glass. What was there to know about him? He was the little brother of Grannvale’s most famed killer, the little child that lurked in the shadows cast by Arvis’ flames. “What is there to even want to know of me? You know my brother; what more do you need?” 

“Easy now,” Lewyn was quick to retort. He placed a comforting hand on the minor-blooded’s shoulder. No pun intended, but Azelle was clearly getting heated. He looked like he needed something to help cool down, and a reminder of sorts. A reminder that his brother was merely the face of Belhalla. The fact that Azelle harbored so much resentment for Arvis told Lewyn that he knew not of it’s true driving force. 

“There’s no need to lose yourself at a party. And remember this, Azelle: never waste your anger on individuals. Always focus on the evil within all of us. You ought to stop and think why your brother did what he did. Good-natured men like him don’t just burn down entire armies for nothin’. Reminiscent as those days may be, we were runnin’ around stirring up all kinds of trouble across Jugdral. That’s justification enough, but there’s probably even something more...” Even wise old Lewyn didn’t have an answer to that question, unfortunately. Just who was the shadowy figure that dealt him his bitter end? Lewyn only knew his face; not his name, motives, or otherwise. He can sense that there’s something bigger than even he or Azelle at play here, yet remains clueless as to specifically what that is. 

“But you’re right. It’s probably best if we drop that.” Another shot from his glass was taken, before the bard switched gears, “You’re more interesting that you give yourself credit for. Heard the rumors that you hopped up and came running ‘soon as Edain landed herself in trouble. I might not be the best judge of character, but that sounds pretty damn impressive to me.” 

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, too. That’s more than someone like me can say, eh?” A bit of dry humor, to lighten the mood. Lewyn’s goal was to help Azelle see some worth in himself--at least enough to enjoy the ball--but he didn’t want to sound like he was showering him in faux praise. Things needed to sound genuine, even if their intent already was. “Bein’ the studious type you are, a little effort’s all you need to open some serious doors in your life. Though you might not be doin’ the same thing Arvis is, you’ll find your own path, Azelle.”

Of Course You Have Green Hair and Talk to Edain

“i certainly will never forget that bond.” edain lets out a blissful sigh, her eyelids fluttering shut in some bid of nostalgia. so many terrible things had happened during that period of her life, and yet she would not trade the time she spent in sigurd’s army for anything else. so many positive things would not have happened had sigurd not come to rescue her…

she almost stumbles over lewyn’s feet getting caught in such nostalgia, to which her eyes flutter back open and she focuses for a bit on getting back on track with their dance.

“well lewyn… as long as ced can handle it, i think you should do what makes you happiest.” the corners of her eyes crinkle with a subtle happiness to them as she looks back up at him. “and i would hate to see you leave after we just met again like this.”

“You’re right about Ced, actually. He’s grown up to be real dependable--a far cry from his dear old dad--but the last thing I’d want to do to the poor boy is put him in a position he doesn’t wanna be in.” 

Dark clouds ruminate in Lewyn’s mind at the thought of Ced. Calling Lewyn’s relationship with his son ‘rocky’ is a bit of an understatement. The bard feels like he’s on thin ice trying to speak with him now, and doesn’t want to so much as imagine trying to burden him. Perhaps after they’ve spoken more...

“If I do stay though,” He continues, returning his headspace to his dance with Edain. He, too, almost misstepped, and that’d be an awful thing to do with how fast they’re dancing. “There’d be no way outta payin’ him a visit every now and then. Maybe I can take trips down to Silesse in the summer...”