lady of tarrah.

...and yet, Linoan hears Leif's lacking report of his own skill with flight and suggests a day where it is not any one of their steeds she rides with exclusively. She asks for him and implies she shall wait for him, for that day to come.

Leif could never compare to a man of the South, has thought as much when it comes to thoughts of his sister, but to know someone would still leave room for him in a battle of skill he was destined to lose when they have so much better of options...

It does his mood some good.

But that promise would have to be followed up on another date, one after Leif has trained his hardest to deliver. Before that, just as Linoan said, there is much else to do, much else to catch up on, built over years of training and living both when Linoan was there and the seasons where they were apart from one another.

“Got it!! Let's head to the dining hall then. They remade it over...”

Leif serves as Linoan's guide into the rebuilding Garreg Mach Monastery, heart light and hopeful. The birds chirp and soar overhead, a cloudless sky gracing the two with an auspicious note.

After destruction, there is always a blue sky and a gentle day that waits; you need only find the strength to keep moving so that you may see it and rebuild. 

“stay in bed, won't you?” linhardt tells him, and quickly burns a warp spell to get him back.  there's not really any other way a boy of his size can get a grown man to bed anyway.

linhardt offers his hand to the girl who had been caught in his escape attempt.  behind him, the patient groans and clutches his injured leg, made worse by his spill.

“are you alright?” he asks her.  “that one's being particularly flighty, and i'm supposed to be keeping him in bed… i…”

he pauses as a yawn forces itself through his mouth.  “…dozed off.”

“You bloody bastards jus' wanna keep the treasure for yourself, I know it!”

“he keeps saying that,” linhardt says, “maybe he's delirious.”

“No, you brat, it's all real!!”

Different.

One moment, Linoan is walking into the medical ward, and then the next, she's lying on the ground. The crushing weight that had been on top of her soon disappears, and her eyes blink open to the ceiling of the room. Distantly, she hears groaning, and an outstretched hand reaches into her vision.

The duchess slowly sits up, taking a moment to regain her bearings for accepting the offered hand. The yawning boy does little to make an odd situation any less peculiar, especially when he speaks of his own bedside manner.

"...Dozing?"

Surely it was because he's been working so hard, right? With patients like this pirate...

"Sir," Linoan shifts her gaze to the man complaining in bed, "Whether this treasure of yours is real or not, it is no excuse to be making trouble for those taking care of you. Or to jeopardize your own recovery before you're healed. Rest. You won't be getting anywhere with that leg wound."

"Shaddup! You brats won't be actin' so high and mighty fer long! I swear, once I get my hands on that treasure...!"

… Then again, if that’s the case, then Miss Goddess was slacking big time during that big invasion. Or it’s just a whole lot of bull.

Granted, none of this is thoughts that Claude says out loud – there is no time to waste or energy to spare on nonsense that, in this particular moment, has no meaning and doesn’t change anything. What he does focus on instead is the smooth skin on the backs and wings of the gargoyles, illuminated by Linoan’s magic – and their shining eyes and teeth.

Claude has just enough time to plant another arrow in between one monster’s vertebrae, causing it to plummet limply down like a rock, before he has to dive away as its buddy lunges at him, fangs the length of his index finger aiming for and luckily narrowly missing his neck. Pulling out another arrow, he smoothly rotates his entire body in sync with the opponent and fires it into the joints of its right wing before it can turn around and charge at him again; it crashes to the ground and rolls, breaking multiple bones in the process, and is left there, writhing among dying screeches. Another arrow in hand, the House Leader glances at it, hoping to cut its suffering short – but is immediately distracted by a by now familiar sound behind his back, and forced to dodge another strike aimed at his vitals.

This time, he proves a smidge too slow however, and is left with a sizable graze on his shoulder. He groans as he recoils backwards, and though he does manage to reply with a counterattack of his own, his shot is no longer clean and only ends up in the base of the monster’s tail, leaving it painful, but still dangerous. Welp, that’s what he gets for trying to be merciful.

At the very least, they’re mostly focused on him. Most attempts to approach Linoan are half-hearted, reluctant and quickly abandoned. Interesting…

It had not slipped her notice that the beasts were mostly aiming for Claude. He was a ranged combatant, just like her—it wasn't as if he was a more vulnerable target than she. But as Linoan watches the way he so masterfully dispatches the gargoyles with just a few arrows, she soon understands.

He was a veritable threat.

But not an indestructible one. One of the monsters manages to graze Claude in the shoulder, and Linoan is quick to raise her staff and will the light of healing his way. Any beast that attempted to lunge for her was pushed back with blasts of magic, the duchess healing whatever cuts she sustained with the life stealing energies of Nosferatu.

In her peripheral, she spots a shadow diving down towards Claude, and hastily tosses a spark of light over his head. "Watch out...!"

That, however, creates the perfect opening for a hidden gargoyle to claw at Linoan's back.

"jugdral," he finally repeats, sampling the name for himself. "huh. first time i've heard of it. i'm from the kingdom of hoshido myself." a plain and simple start to his own backstory, using what his partner's said as a template. "i'm the son of its king, which makes me the crown prince." no, duh. what else would it make him? shiro manages a small smile at his expense. "can't say i'm used to introducing myself that way, but i guess that feeling's bound to pass someday."

he fidgets as he lowers his arm, angling to peer at his reflection in the mirror. he's not sure what else to tell her; any talk of the deeprealms would surely be met with confusion or disbelief. and he's never been all that good at unpacking heavier topics either — as far as he's concerned, there's no point in bringing up the fact that he hasn't yet been betrothed himself, or that he dreads the thought of it and can only imagine how she feels.

"the truth is, i spent most of my life not knowing i was royalty." shiro steps away with a shrug, as if reciting something long practiced. "i was born during a war, so my dad and the others stashed their kids away in the hopes of protecting them." a simplified and generous explanation, his own complex feelings set aside. "which brings me here now. there's still tons i have to learn before i become king."

A prince? Moreover, a crown prince? Her heart quickens slightly at the revelation. Lord Leif was of a similar title, and she considered him a friend... but with this man, to be so informal...

An apology is already forming on her lips when he speaks again, and the clarity of his following statement is enough to ease her moment of panic. She supposes if he didn't grow up as royalty, she could not be faulted for not realizing.

Still... the duchess frowns. Children and parents separated by war. She knows the tale all too well.

"I see. We are similar in that sense, then—there is much I also still have to learn as a leader. My father... passed, when I was young, so I didn't have the fortune of his guidance as I came into my role."

His next question is a clearly telegraphed way to shift the topic, but Linoan welcomes it. Today was meant to be one for celebration, and she didn't wish to ruin the mood. There was also the matter of their mission to focus on...

"Oh, yes, I believe..." Linoan looks out the window, at the position of the noontime sun, and gasps. "Oh my. It's soon! The time must have gotten away from us..."

The concept alone was difficult to wrap her mind around. It was one thing for an artifact or weapon to hold a fraction of a god's power, but for them to carry the spirits of the gods themselves...

Moreover, that these legends were people she actually knew.

Seeing Lord Leif's statue in the hall was a surprise, and yet not. He had done much for the land of Jugdral—too much, she sometimes thinks, when she sees the weight of burden in his youthful eyes—and after all of the wars he's fought, all of the work he's put in to liberate the nations across their land...

It was only natural he would be seen as a hero.

A glance to the left brings her a glimpse of another man, one she's only known through stories. Lord Sigurd. His tale had been a tragic one, that ultimately paved the way for the Child of Light to bring an end to the long Holy War... and yet,

There was no Lord Seliph to be seen. How terribly... odd. A child of major blood, and the one who liberated Grannvale. Was he not one of the greatest heroes Jugdral had known?

Linoan's brow furrows at the revelation, though she attempts to soften her expression when she hears footsteps against the tile. Steady, yet loud in the silence of the hall, the sound echoing off each wall.

Turning, she is met with the sight of a gentle-faced, russet haired man. Another visitor to the Holy Land, if she remembers correctly.

"Good day, sir."

She is told this by one of the Lythian priests after stumbling upon an unexpected scene in the town's square, holy workers and laypeople alike gathering together under a sheet of stars and the air of solemnity, all carrying candles both lit and unlit.

It was the village's post-meal prayer, that same priest told her, and Linoan was promptly given a candle of her own, before she could even attempt to excuse herself from such an intimate event.

So she cradles her candle delicately in both palms, approaching the altar to place it on when she spots a familiar flash of hair in the crowd ahead. Aqua-colored tresses, cascading down the woman's back like a waterfall...

Linoan had not spoken to her at length, yet...

Evette. Adaline. High tensions, and the cold grip of darkness—of the all-consuming void.

"Ninian, yes?" She softly calls, once she was in speaking range, "I did not realize you were visiting this village, as well."

No wonder the pay for this mission was ridiculously high.

"Well, time to teach them," he mutters under his nose, grasp on Gungnir tightening. Here in Fódlan, his spear's divine status matters little - but it changes nothing. It slew bandits back when it still wore that title with pride, so that his people would have bread on their tables - and it will continue to do so just as effectively even after it's been forgotten.

He spots the brigands, and huffs. The smoke from the burning houses has concealed his presence; the mark of destruction they had sown now working against them. At least until the moment when, pulling on Aphelion's reins, he directs the wyvern to swoop and charge, blowing a gust of wind that dispels the cover and allows the villains to see death approaching just for a split second.

"What the hell is thaaAAAAAA—"

Just as it began, so too does it abruptly end, and Arion withdraws his weapon, now bloodstained, ordering his mount to halt in front of a few elderly villagers, either wounded or too scared to move -

and a young lady with a healing staff, sporting a head of long, pink hair that he would recognize anywhere. His eyes widen as Aphelion lands and lowers his head, allowing his rider to see her more clearly.

"Linoan! What are you—" He interrupts himself, his eyes landing on the civilians before him, paralyzed by fear and horror. Right, Altena had told him she was here. As soon as he remembers that, the rest falls into place. He shakes his head, and though the situation is still critical, offers her the faintest of smiles to try to reassure her at least a little bit.

Linoan was no soldier, but she was a fighter; a champion for life and liberation, no matter the land. And so she could not stand by as pirates came to pillage the town she was passing through, using her light magic to momentarily blind a gang of brigands that had been attempting to drag a woman and child from their home.

Though she merely saw a fraction of the horrors Thracia faced under the Empire's rule, her travels with Leif and the stories Safy brought back from her long, arduous journey had been more than enough to paint the picture of depravity and terror.

That would not happen here.

"This way," She ushers the woman and child, along with a gaggle of displaced and injured villagers that had been collected along the way, into a dark alley. The pirates had been relentless in their pursuit, burning down every building in their path, and cutting down every body—there was only so much Linoan could do on her own.

A wailing breaks her line of thought, and Linoan whirls around to the man sitting against the wall, hand clutched to his bleeding side. He had been a farmer protecting his livestock, only for the pirates to deal him a grievous wound for his efforts.

Long skirts swish about her legs as she rushes over to him, healing staff held over his wound once she kneels to the ground. Behind her, a mother frantically attempts to calm her crying baby. An older man is barely held back by his wife, eager to fight the pirates, and likely charge to his own death. The man underneath Linoan continues to wail in pain. Hopefully, the pirates hear none of this, and—

"THE RATS ARE HIDIN' OVER 'ERE!"

Linoan tenses at the booming, gravelly voice, her staff still glowing with Bragi's warmth, fingers flexing as she begins to call upon the light of Heim... no matter the circumstance, she would fight for these people.

That was what Safy, Deen, Lord Leif—what they all would do.

Thundering footsteps approach, and Linoan turns to face them, only for...

"...thaaAAAAAA—"

Teal eyes widen as a wyvern swoops down from the skies, the blade of a majestic lance skewering the pirates effortlessly, Linoan only able to manage a hasty, "Look away!" to the more impressionable villagers before the carnage was over. And once it was...

Flowing brunet hair falls from the rider's shoulders, and she would have thought it to be Lady Altena if not for the lance. Or that familiar wyvern.

Even so many years later, she could... "Prince Arion?"

His questions are merely sounds smashing against the storm of her thoughts, but Linoan manages to hold onto enough of her composure to stand and meet him.

"...The pirates, they... they came suddenly, and I was already in this village seeking out supplies. I could not simply stand and watch as those fiends terrorized these good people. And so..." She glances back, to the villagers who looked upon Arion with a mix of fear and suspicion.

Maybe Linoan sees herself as paid already by the church. Really, if Linoan had tried to pay her, that is what Karla would say. The money is pulled closer to her, but only a modicum, in that consideration. Paid already...

She grows silent as she listens to Karla speak, surprised that the woman was so willing to part with her feelings. Tarrah's duchess did not know the swordswoman particularly well—or much at all, really—but she had gotten the impression that the other was often reluctant to part with her words, let alone her deeper thoughts.

...But it is also a relief. Healing is only stemmed when one refuses to face their pains.

Even in spite of the severity of the situation, Claude doesn't forget to offer Linoan a smile; a sign of encouragement, support and his faith in her. Though he in particular is slow to offer his trust to others, well, though times call for tough measures; but even then, she has always felt like one of those innocent (though certainly not inexperienced – there is something in the way she looks and speaks, that gives him the feeling she's seen more than him) and reliable types.

Besides, a lot of the time, there's something about healers in particular that makes it easier to trust them than some other types of people. Maybe it's just because, well, they keep you alive, so you end up putting your life in their hands anyway. And at least, most of the ones he has met so far do not abuse that faith.

No, not even the Church-affiliated ones. From what he's seen, anyway.

...

"Believe me, I don't like killing for no reason," he assures her after a moment of hesitation. He assumes, at any rate, that that's what she means by regret. "But I don't think these beasts will just let ut waltz past them. Doubt they get a whole lot of fresh meat down here, y'know." As for her question, however, that prompts a longer pause of consideration from him, before his smile becomes a touch cheeky.

"Weeeell... you know what they say about getting to a bridge before you cross it. We'll see what the situation is and if we can get it out ourselves. If not, we'll at least secure the area and mark the location for staff to safely retrieve it."

Which does, inevitably, include facing the whatever that is guarding the path. As the heavy sound of beating wings passes them and starts getting further away, Claude takes a deep inhale, gives Linoan a silent nod, his smile fading – before he leans out with his bow, takes aim, and fires. The arrow sings a quiet song through the air before finding its resting place in the back of the monster's neck.

The unholy scream-like sound that follows is unlike anything he had ever heard. Not even in the dead of that fateful night – though perhaps, the echo of those empty halls is what adds to the effect.

The corridors soon fill with more screeching. Claude quickly grabs two more arrows.

Linoan's brows furrow as the words settle in the air, his following remarks only distantly heard. It is alarmingly... casual. He speaks as though killing is more natural to him than it should be—as if he had a choice between doing it or not. The duchess stares at what little she could see of his form in the dark, frowning.

She thinks of the ordeals the monastery has recently faced, far more perilous than a military school should have been forced to endure.

Even in this land, youths were made to grow up far faster than they should...

They soon come to a halt, Linoan waiting as Claude gives his signal. The house leader wastes no time in aiming for the beast, delivering a clean shot to its neck before it calls for its brethren in sheer agony.

Staff at the ready, the duchess quickly grants his request with a conjuring of magic at her fingertips, launching the sparks into the air to brighten the entire cavern.

Where they are, unsurprisingly, met with several gargoyles.

Where Leif saw himself as weak and regrettable in that episode, Linoan seemed to see something else. Could he follow her gaze and see it too if he really tried? They were of similar ages, and yet, sometimes, it felt as if she viewed the world completely differently than him. He doesn't think it's just optimism either but he can't quite place it.

What Linoan has that he doesn't. What Linoan sees that he can't.

But before he can get too lost in such thoughts, she pulls him from them, rescuing him.

“Ah, you might have a hard time believing it, but one of the professors here is trying to teach me how to ride a wyvern. I'm not very good at it yet though...”  The prince of the North learning to work alongside a creature of the South? Times really were changing.  “I've also learned how to make medicine on my own from herbs and plants. And I can pick locks on my own too!”

Coaxed by her question, he finds himself unraveling, boasting like a child trying to get the attention and praise of a grown-up without even realizing it. Back in Tarrah, all he had been able to brag about was the sword training he underwent, waiting for Linoan or Asbel to come to him so he could finally kill his boredom...

“I can make a pretty good cup of tea now too. I don't need to rely on your servants or Nanna anymore, Linoan.”

Since childhood, really.

That he could be such a way again... her throat clenches, and she almost sheds a tear.

They have done it, Father. They have finally made it out of those dark days. Your efforts had never been in vain.

"A wyvern?" She chuckles, "That sounds like quite the sight. Perhaps we can ride together one day, once you have gotten a better handle on it."

Linoan threads her fingers behind her back, walking alongside him much like she used to, in those distant days back in Tarrah. Returning from her training at the monastery as Leif proudly boasted of a new achievement in his sword lessons. Sometimes, Asbel would be there, or Nanna—friends all precious, just as the memories that were associated with them.