goodknight.

the defensive way ashe responded made hapi snicker, “alright, alright. if you say so then i’ll take your word for it.”

that moment of humour was brief, however, as ashe continued. they had some opinions on his words about abyss.

while true that hapi did stay in abyss all these years later of their own volition, whether that being because they liked it there was… debatable at best. back at the academy rhea relented on what was basically an imprisonment, and once war broke out it wasn’t like any knights were around the monastery to keep them down there even if they wanted to.

the world outside was truly open to them, and yet here they remained.

leaving was something they certainly considered many times over, to be free of the underground, explore fodlan as originally intended or even take a trip back home to reunite with their parents, but such desires would always remain out of reach as long this stupid ‘condition’ of theirs remained. abyss was the only place that could tolerate the inherent danger that they were.

at least staying allowed a reunion with byleth, ashe and… whatever happened to dimitri. that was nice. knowing they were all still alive.

“abyss isn’t bad, yuri-bird does all he can to keep it a somewhat safe haven at the very least, but you know most people are only here because they have to be. nowhere else for them. also? it’s boring as hell.” that last part sounded like quite a pathetic complaint in retrospect, yet it was true, “and if i did decide to leave, where would i go? no where else would risk housing someone like me.” hapi let out a laugh that lacked any actual humour.

“…sorry. don’t mean to sound like such a downer all the time.” they patted ashe’s shoulder and decided to take the conversation in a different direction, “you kept eyeing the stalls before, freckles, is there something you’re looking for? we get all sorts down here you can’t find on the surface. can’t guarantee it’s not stolen stuff though.”

only the hard-won knowledge that people didn't much like being openly pitied kept ashe's face from betraying how terribly sad he found hapi's sentiment. he frowned, but to any outside observer he might as well have been contemplating abyss's wares.

as close as it was to the adrestian border, there was no guarantee that gaspard territory would still be standing after the war. and yet, even in the event that his home was destroyed, ashe had never doubted he'd find another. he had a whole kingdom to roam; his ambitions did not end at a stone staircase beneath garreg mach.

"right," he said, at length. "the market is—yes. i'd heard there might be some unusual weaponry."

ashe hoped hapi would interpret his deflated tone as a response to the revelation (such as it was) that abyss contained illegitimate goods. he was suddenly no longer interested in the topic of venin bows and whether they were heaps cooler than regular bows, anyway.

"say, hapi." it felt as though he was watching himself speak, inwardly chastising himself from circling back to a topic hapi seemed keen to sidestep. "do you remember that i was raised by a lord for a while?"

briefly he let the query settle. then he realised, belatedly, that by its least charitable interpretation it sounded like he was bragging apropos of nothing. he scrambled to clarify.

Well, it wasn’t fish–that alone would have made it a five-star dish for Marigold, that is, if they weren’t actively recording results for actual taste. Though, even if they were doing just that, it had been so lovingly prepared! It certainly took a caring hand to provide meals for anyone, and with that in mind, how bad could it have possibly been? Even if she had yet to taste it, Marigold had very little doubt in Ashe.

She’d giggle silently at the exultant reveal of the ladle they’d coveted so, and with it in hand, she would very carefully dip its sturdy, steel bowl into the stew. As Marigold moved it closer to her, she would hover her hand under it as to not spill any of the excess onto any other surfaces… and, blowing onto it first, she would take a small sip.

…Oh, wow, this was… really good. Being an avid meat-eater herself, she loved the taste of beef, and… well, if he hadn’t told her, she would have never known that there was none in it! It tasted like… home. Like something her father would have made her for dinner after a long day.

So, with that in mind, Marigold would give a pleased nod to say that it tasted spectacular! Her smile as warm as the broth itself, she silently swore that she could eat that entire thing if she could… but, until Ashe was pleased with it, that would have to wait.

‘Very good!’ She would give a simple, two-word sign for Ashe; who knows, maybe he would understand! Though, part of her did wish that she could provide more input… after all, surely he would be looking for more than that, yes…?

This was always the worst part. The waiting. If Marigold paid Ashe any heed at all while she was sampling the stew, she'd find him bent slightly forward at the waist, a hand gripping his chin while he waited keenly for the verdict of—

Very good. That was better than he was hoping for by a whole very. Ashe sprang upright again, smile bright in his eyes, and raised his hands to respond to Marigold in kind. Though he faltered at first—gaze flickering to check the alignment of his thumbs—what he wanted to convey to her was mercifully one of the very first things he'd learnt.

'Thank you!' Well, as far as Ashe was concerned, manners were always the best place to start in any language. They were universally free of charge. 'You don't think it's too salty? Because...'

Here he lost momentum. The textbook hadn't exactly contained the sign for salty. Now he was fingerspelling, and he'd moved into the territory where he feared his speed—or lack thereof—would be a bother, something he channelled into a sheepish smile before speaking.

     Dimitri STARES at the instrument for a moment, his expression drawing blank. Then, his one-eyed gaze lifts up to meet Ashe’s– and he’s GRIMACING, slightly.

          “Ashe… DARLING, I do not think that an instrument such as this can be repaired in the same way one of my lances can.” He frowns, reaching out to gingerly pluck one of the clarinet halves from Ashe’s grasp. “I could see about hiring someone to do it? I am afraid that I would only make it WORSE.”

    Really, Ashe expected nothing less. But the part of him that trusts Dimitri enough to bring all of his problems to the king's door seems to think there's nothing Dimitri won't be able to fix, too.

Of all the questions Seteth had expected… well, this had not been it. In fact, it hadn’t even been on the list of the top twenty candidates. But Ashe always has this earnest, starry-eyed look of youth, always curious and inquiring about the world around him, and Seteth’s very job ( or part of it, at least ) is to offer guidance and advice to students, especially when he was quite so directly asked, so… 

❝ Ah- well, you see, a lot of people gather here, whether it be from the town below the monastery, or just the knights, the students, the staff, the faithful… ❞ Truly, Garreg Mach attracts a lot of people on the daily. ❝ More often than not, there’s food to be found wherever so many people can be found in the same place, at the same time. Cats plainly follow the promise of nourishment, although some of them are familiar enough with humans that they will simply follow them out of their own free will. ❞

Plus, the smell of whatever the dining hall staff prepares each day wafts over most of the monastery grounds, so he can’t quite blame the little felines for being lured to it by the dozen.

❝ To put it simply, they flock here because of a desire of food and company. And of course, after they realise this place is safe and offers plenty of both, they have no desire to leave. So… I suppose you can say it’s always been this way. Why? Are you interested on adopting one for yourself? ❞

Technically students aren’t allowed to keep pets in their dormitories;; even baby wyverns and newborn pegasi must be strictly kept at the aviary and the stable respectively. But not even the knights or the staff follow this rule, and nobody’s that particular about its enforcement, so, if Ashe does want a cat, Seteth won’t stop him. 

Goddess knows cats flock to his office on the daily, going as far as to fall asleep on his lap or shoulders while he works. Perks of being a draconic creature with a higher-than-average body temperature, he supposes.

Though the question was borne from a place of only passing interest, Seteth has captured Ashe's full attention by the end of the answer.

Not because he's necessarily convinced by it. As much as Ashe likes cats, he suspects they can’t all be canny enough to favour the monastery for strategic reasons. After all, he’s locked in a battle of wills with one particular piebald that won't stop raiding the pantry no matter how many times it has to flee Caspar Bergliez's wrath.

Rather, Ashe is surprised Seteth answered him with such care. Learning that a man he's been viewing as an austere advisor might have a place in his thoughts for four-legged creatures feels like forbidden knowledge, somehow: as though Ashe has stumbled upon a book in the library that shouldn't have been there to begin with.

Catching himself regarding Seteth curiously, Ashe instead flashes a pleasant smile, holding up his hands for good measure. ❝ Oh, no! I'm really more of a dog person. Where I'm from, most people had one—my parents kept a mutt to stand sentry over their restaurant. Cats are really cute, but they'd make terrible guard animals. Besides, I think they're much happier roaming free. I'd hate to coop one up in my dormitory... ❞

          “What is THAT supposed to mean?” Dimitri stares at his lover, a frown drawing on his lips. “Do I need to be LOOG-ESQUE to capture your attention???”

     Dimitri furrows his brow as Ashe speaks, frowning slightly. His gaze turns back towards the front of the cathedral once more, and his steel-clad heel begins to bounce and click against the floor absentmindedly as he thinks. He supposes it makes sense that Ashe would think that– and honestly, he isn’t going to try to convince him otherwise.

          “I am glad that she answered you, Ashe.” And he really, truly is– whether it was the goddess or pure, dumb luck, Dimitri is happy that the archer was set onto a path that lead him to the Academy. “I am not quite sure about my prayers being answered, though. I am of the mindset that giving an answer that one cannot understand repeatedly is not much help.” He shrugs and looks down, smiling wryly.

          “I have been unable to decipher her answers as of yet, and perhaps that is due to my own shortcomings, I do not know… to me, it simply means that she is not the goddess for me. There are plenty of other deities that I could pay my attention to, many of which are FROWNED UPON by the people of Faerghus– like the gods of Duscur, or the nature spirits of Brigid. ONE goddess can only do so much, and while I am grateful for her for all that she has done in the past… she has not given me much reason to put FAITH into her now.”

        Of course, Ashe senses his words have fallen on deaf ears. And yet, beneath the initial shock—and some unease that their prince cares little for his divine appointment—Ashe feels just a little bit impressed by the answer.

        Maybe those spiritual misgivings are things Dimitri tells anyone who’ll listen, but Ashe would never have imagined he'd be allowed close enough to hear them in the first place. He shakes his head, lowering his hands to the bench and gripping the edge. If anyone's going to change Dimitri's mind, he's already aware it's not going to be him.

         “I see. I'm sorry that's how you feel.” His face pulls with sympathy: though he tries to contain it, he doesn't succeed. “I guess you have more reason than most to feel that way, Your Highness. But for what it's worth...”

 instinctively  claude  holds  failnaught  closer  to  him.    he  never  cared  much  for  material  possessions  and  had  the  weapon  not  been  so  dangerous  towards  those  who  do  not  possess  a  crest  he  would  already  have  given  it  to  ashe  to  examine  and  perhaps  shoot  an  arrow  or  two.  but  alas,  such  things  would  be  too  dangerous  and  he  would  rather  not  tempt  fate.  

     ❝      as  if  you’re  standing  on  top  of  the  world  and  can  face  the  world,      ❞     out  of  reach,  invincible,  alive.  like  you  made  it  somehow,  because  you  got  a  weapon  which  you  can  use  to  carve  your  own  path.  for  a  moment  he  looks  at  the  bow.     ❝       but  also  the  responsibility  of  wielding  a  weapon  like  this  ,  that  said  …      ❞     he  had  noticed  it  before.  not  just  his  weapon  but  the  other  ones  as  well.     ❝      between  you  and  me,  this  whole  twitch-y  thing  weirds  me  out  sometime    —    like  it  is  looking  at  you  somehow.      ❞     definitely  not  something  you  want  to  be  staring  at  half  awake  when  you  wake  up  in  the  depth of night.

failnaught's  tendency  to  wiggle  had  stuck  out  to  ashe  before,  but  he'd  assumed  it  was  an  illusion:  something  relics  simply  do  when  channelling  a  crest,  a  lively  conduit  for  their  wielder.  yet  claude  makes  it  sound  like  he  has  no  choice  in  the  matter  —   and  gifts  from  the  goddess  or  no,  that  comes  a  little  too  close  to  resembling  a  handful  of  spooky  stories  ashe  has  read  to  his  detriment.

          “…Ashe. You know that I am not Loog, right? RIGHT???”

Mikleo wasn’t sure why he had been drawn to the bow and arrow instead of something more… traditional. Sorey had taken to the sword, and Mikleo had tried to learn how to use a lance before rather quickly deciding that it just simply wasn’t for him. The movements had felt too sluggish and clunky and he had just felt safer when there was a fair amount of distance between himself and his opponent. Magic helped with that, and so did archery.

He never would have said he was particularly good, but it was a hobby that was a useful one, so practicing it never was out of place. Mikleo tried to make use of the small range whenever there was no one else around though to try to limit how much of a fool he was bound to make himself, a goal that he had clearly failed at when he heard the clap.

The pale-haired young man jolted in place. His first instinct was to deny that he had even been using the bow, which was incredibly silly. The second was to try to just flee, but when he saw it was another classmate in his house Mikleo knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with that. And really, it was another equally silly thought.

“It is,” Mikleo said after a moment, smiling at the other. “Self taught, I think? I had read up on how certain climates affected different bow-types.” A recurve may not have had the same distance and punch as a long-bow, but changes in weather were less likely to affect aim and the bow still bent easily even in the worst of the cold. “Mostly I work with magic but… well learning how to use a bow hadn’t seem like the worst idea at the time.”

He allowed a moment to pass before Mikleo added on: “I’m Mikleo. You’re… Ashe, right?”

Though Ashe's eyes widened a fraction, he couldn’t place why he was so surprised to learn that a fellow Blue Lion knew of him by name. The fact they were surrounded by so many interesting people probably had something to do with it. He didn’t expect his classmates to pay him any mind by default.

“That's me," he said, brightly. “I've seen you around, but it's good to be introduced! I'm an archer, too... or I'm trying to be. I'm from Rowe territory—hunting with arrows there isn’t uncommon.”

He stepped past Mikleo to hang the training bow he'd been using onto the rack with its cousins. They were tricky to handle, but Ashe was still saving up for the model he really wanted. Well. Not that he had one in mind. He’d know when he saw it.

With the equipment returned to its stand, Ashe straightened up, and it occurred to him that he’d maybe been preaching to the choir.  He offered Mikleo a breezy grin as he extended his arms in front of him, flexing his entwined fingers.

     “I disagree completely.  I think you would make a fine professor—one of literature,  perhaps,  like the classics.  I do not think you need to be an  expert,  per se.  Teaching is also an art of learning,  no ?”  He offers it with an open palm,  the sort of dramatic gesture he cannot seem to speak without.  Then he walks down the long aisle that divides the classroom.  His armored boots clank and echo,  stirring up long-lain dust in their wake.  He stops before the lectern from which Professor Hanneman used to teach and turns back to Ashe. 

“Yes,  that is what I said.  I mean everyone.  If we are to do away with the nobility,  we must institute public structures in their place.  I truly believe people are products of their environment,  and if we give them the means to succeed,  they will not only succeed but thrive.  Everyone should have that chance.”  His hand finds its way to his heart,  to press his sincerity back from where it stems.  Ever has his dream been to lead the people of Fódlan to a brighter future,  though his impression of  bright  has changed over the years,  naïve as he was before.

     “But you are right.  It is a daunting task to take on alone,  even for me.   Perhaps especially,  given the privilege of my own upbringing.  In fact,  Ashe,  as someone who has seen both sides of the coin,  your wisdom and perspective would be truly valuable to me.  Would you perchance visit me in Aegir sometime,  once this dreadful war has ended ?  And if you do decide to become a professor,  the New Boramas Academy  would welcome you with open arms !  —um,  I am still working on the title.”

    Right, okay. Ashe quickly discards any reluctance he had about nearing the classroom, because not following Ferdinand inside would be terribly rude. Despite what the more poetic books in his library would have him believe, he isn't struck by a nostalgia best expressed through metaphor. At least there's some truth to Ferdinand's claim that Ashe could manage teaching literature, anyway.

    Yet the trouble with Ferdinand is that he makes everything sound believable. He speaks with such conviction that it's hard not to get swept up, so while Ashe would not describe himself as a font of wisdom, he nonetheless evaluates the offer.

     “I'm not saying I'll become a professor,” he says quickly, because it feels prudent to decline before he finds himself receiving a chalkboard. Advancing a few steps, he idly raps a fist against the nearest desk: sturdy and austere as ever. “But if you really think I could help, I’d be honoured. For starters, I think just copying noble institutions would cause its own problems. If you ask me, you can’t apply the same structure to commoners... I’m sure you’ve considered that already, though.”

Tahirah couldn’t help but giggle at the last statement. She nearly got into a full fit of giggles, really! This was all so amusing to speak about - even if it was with one of her own comrades at a time like this.

“Mind their own business! Oh, I’m sure they’d be happy to do that if they could. I know Arlyn and Nuriel mean well, they were practically my parental figures growing up and all—and I know they steal away every opportunity to spend time with each other too…” 

“But,” Another giggle left her before she added, “I did help both of them get together, so it makes sense that they really want to help me - not just for the sake of political power and so on, but also just for general happiness of myself and whoever I marry…”

Eventually she took a deep breath, trying to maintain some sort of calm again as she looked toward him with a beaming smile.

“Now that I think about it, you’d actually get along with Nuriel and Arlyn well if you met them. Both were former mercenaries before they became my advisors and bodyguards, so they might have some things in common…” A soft hum left her after that, and she tilted her head slightly. “Though I fear they’ll get so caught up in the marriage business that if you ever came to visit, they’d probably think that you’re vying for my hand…you’re already in their good books based on what I told them about you, though, so you should be fine. No risk of being chased out of the country by a bear or anything.”

Chased by a bear. Ashe furrowed his brow, figuring something had to be lost in translation... right? An abundance of caution prevented him from trying to find out—so he shook his head, and though he still couldn't bring himself to smile yet, one corner of his mouth lifted in a close approximation.

"I really don't think they'd get that idea about me, Tahirah." He gestured to himself, which he felt should explain what he was angling at, but he clarified anyway. "I'm just a commoner. They'd get nothing out of marrying you off to me."

He realised just how glum that remark was once it left his mouth. Not because of the shortcomings of his own status—he was comfortable with what he was, and he'd never particularly envied his noble counterparts. Rather, it struck him as terribly sad that her parental figures were bearing down on her to take such a big step. In wartime, no less. He could only hope they weren't rushing her.

╚»★ That was a relief, she hated to be a bother. If she had to admit, Iris was still adjusting to the fact so many people were showing care for her and her wellbeing. She had spent a long time all alone and keeping to herself because of past experience, yet.. they were all willing to take her in despite the state she was found in. 

Iris had recalled them from before the war, but most of her old memories of the academy were hazy. Her social cues were a bit slower too, taking a moment before she even realized he was inviting her to sit, giving a quiet nod before sitting in the chair he pulled out for her. 

“I’m alright. Well, ah.. as alright as one can be while trying to recover their sanity. Perhaps it was because of my state of mind, but, the last five years feel like a dream.. and that I’ve only just woken up.”

"I can't say I know the feeling," Ashe replied over his shoulder, as he returned to the seat he'd occupied before.

By all rights, so much had happened in the past five years that every terrible thing should have blended into one—but Ashe had felt each one, could recall them with uncomfortable detail. If there was any silver lining to what Iris had gone through, it was that she'd missed out on fighting a losing battle. Half a decade of treading water. Still, he knew that wouldn’t be of much comfort.