once upon a dream

"Stranger things..." Deirdre agrees with a hum. Yes, that is certainly one way to put it. The fact that they are both here, together, is definitely strange but it is also magical. "I think it is a blessing. I would have liked to have gotten to know you better when you were young but I am glad for the chance to do so now."

It might be optimistic to choose to believe in the kindness of spirits and ghosts but it is the view she chooses to have as well. There are too many she has loved and lost that she needs to believe they are able to watch over their loved ones with kindness.

That word tumbles around her brain but refuses to connect with anything.

Not due to it being incorrect, no.

She can see the broad outline of how their fates are alike, stripped of their autonomy for the simple crime of being born the child of an equally unlucky woman.

In that way, Tine is clearly the fortunate one.

Deirdre's legacy is in how she doomed the world and saved it in equal measure.

But does that matter here and now?

The tragedy of how her life ended wasn't undone; it cannot be, and yet she's here.

Living a new life, in this world she is no ghost.

And Tine is no duchess, no heavy legacy weighing her down.

Maybe the way they are alike is that despite everything, they got lucky.

"Th-thank you, I mean, for seeing me as someone worth knowing better-and for sympathizing with me."

There are loose tears streaming down her face.

Not exactly happy ones but definitely not ones of sadness.

Just confusing emotion melting into the mist.

"I hope that you will allow me to continue to get to know you. You are always welcome in my classes and my office is always open if you are looking for more than just a professor."

Deirdre is a woman who has lived two lives, perhaps even three now. There are so many of her loved ones from her first life here now in Fódlan and she is grateful each time she passes their faces in the hallway or hears the echo of their voice in the dining hall. But Tine is one of only a few pieces from her second life here. It is nice to be able to cherish those memories too even if there were not as many featuring Tine as she would have liked.

While the professor is chopping the chocolates, Ashe starts setting up the double boiler that will allow them to melt evenly. First and foremost, since he offered to help her that’ll be the priority. A happy little hum escapes from his lips whilst working.

"One of my children is a student here. I wonder if you have met him. You must be around his age. Seliph of the Black Eagles?" Deirdre starts to add the chocolate pieces into the double boiler. Even if it does cause some heartache to talk about the family she misses, she does still enjoy doing it. Just knowing that she can speak about them and remember them is enough sometimes.

"I thought he might like to try something I would have shared with his father. Lord Sigurd was never really one for sweets but if I presented him with a game, he would not be able to refuse. But, of course I am sure he would have eaten anything if he knew I made it with love for him."

For most of his life, books were his greatest companions, most faithful – sometimes only. They were there when the people from the court mocked him, when he chased his brother's shadow ever as it threatened to swallow him whole, when he sought out ways to help and save the companions he had, and when the world went up in flames. They were security, stability and comfort. To visit the library was to meet new friends, ones he would never stand a chance of encountering anywhere else in the world – after all, it was inevitable that much of Fódlan’s selection could never be found in Jugdral.

He would soon be proven right as the library absorbed him whole. So much information, knowledge, passion – he could be here forever! It was both exhilarating and, he would have to admit, almost a little intimidating… but in a good way. Going between the tomes, he soon forgot himself entirely, not noticing a hand reaching for the same book as him.

Startled, Azelle took a quick step back. “Ah, my apologies, I got distr—”

He then froze all over again upon realizing that he knew that head of wavy lilac those untold years ago. For a moment, he stared at her, hand frozen in mid-air.

"Lord Azelle?" She should not be too surprised that he is here. He is not the first friend from her past that has found his way here to Fódlan. And if she is going to find him in this monastery, well, amid the books she knows they have both always loved seems as likely a place as any.

"Forgive me for staring," Deirdre pushes out an awkward laugh as she blinks away the tears threatening to form at the corners of her eyes. "Your face...you look..." Would he be happy to learn of his niece and nephew? "You are here!"

@warpaway

"Unscrupulous seems awfully harsh," Deirdre muses as she and Linhardt walk out of the classroom, now joined hand in hand.

It had been an easy choice to volunteer to guide these troublemakers. She can fix them! It would not be difficult to set them right with just a little kindness and care. And the monastery had been glad that she was willing to step up. They had received far less volunteers than they had hoped for.

But Linhardt! Deirdre had been surprised to see them as her assigned partner. She has never had any issues with them and considers them to be a delight in her class. The cleric overseeing the entire endeavor had reassured her that there was no mistake and that Linhardt was destined for this punishment.

The Light shines from him into her like a lamp lit in a dark room. Deirdre wonders if, together, they might be able to chase the darkness within her out like shadows fleeing from the sun.

She looks up at him, his bright eyes twinkling down as he looks at her. He will protect her, he promises, and she believes that he can. She does not want to be alone any longer.

The intake of breath at her skin against his was instinctive, and it was as natural as the beat of his heart in his chest.

“No master, now, I’m afraid I haven’t been granted that rank,” he joked softly, giving the hand an experimental little tug to bring her closer, to assure himself that she was real, and he was in this moment with her. “Simply Sigurd… I only want to hear you call me Sigurd.”

And he wanted to hear it often. Wanted to hear his name from her every day of his remaining life, if he could help it.

When he looked up and into her eyes, he thought that he could see her desire to say it, too.

“I will be by your side within moments, if you say it. Here, try it now, and see -” A grin at the tease, and another tug, pulling her closer still, the other hand coming up to rest gently on her bicep.

"Sigurd," Deirdre repeats again. If this is what it takes for him to bring her closer to his side, she will say it a thousand times. There is nowhere else in the universe she would rather be than at this man's side. Right now, she is not sure if anywhere else in the universe even matters.

With a bit of hesitation, debating internally whether it is alright to do so, she sets a hand against his chest, right over his heart and lets him draw her in close. Would it really be so selfish to go with him if he has her so convinced that he can protect her from the terrors that threaten her?

"I will go with you, Sigurd." She hopes he will say her name as much as she says his. "Across the stars, across the galaxy, wherever you go, I want to be by your side."

"Did you not have anything else to wear?" She has to hold back a laugh as the absurdity of the situation begins to truly sink in. And she remembers their very first meeting. He had been dressed up then, too, the students in his class reenacting one of the worse moments of her life. "Or perhaps you are coming from another acting lesson?"

“I was hoping you knew. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of any of my trousers since I left ‘em out to dry.”

He hunches forward with an elbow propped on his lap and his chin propped in his hand, letting the weight of the effort from shouldering all of this nonsense show in full.

"And what of Sir Forsyth? Does he know you have been out and about in my dress? Surely he would have something more suitable for you to borrow..." What would Forsyth think? She pauses for a moment to consider the other man's reaction and it brings forth a laugh. "No, perhaps it is best you did not. I imagine he would have quite a bit to say."

Well then! She will simply have to help him. It cannot be that difficult to locate a missing pair of clothes. With any luck, they might appear in front of him, just as her dress has now done for her.

Her smile is forced but it is a relief to learn that Sigurd and Edain did not need to venture into the Aed. "You did not run into any cultists, then?" Would they have known her had she joined the expedition?

Deirdre looks at Edain's hand holding her own. A simple gesture but one that means the world to her. How many times had they held hands like this before? She has missed it terribly but it is hard to find comfort when Edain continues to speak.

Deirdre is no stranger to dying. It was death that brought her here and she has looked it in the face since coming here, too. She has been able to keep each time hidden from her son. She can at least agree with Edain on that. But she was a ghost when she came here. Edain is still truly alive. Could she break free of mortality as easily?

It is not an answer Deirdre has any desire to find out.

"It is nicer with company. It is nicer with you."

She watches Tine curiously, trying to figure out what she might mean. Has she experience with monsters? Or have crowds been too unkind to her?

she doesn't feel she deserves it a reflex to just stay quiet and expect to be forgotten claws on her mind

but ahe wrong so often and even the most basic etiquette demands a grateful response.

"That

It is incredibly kind of you to say."

Maybe the Empress really means just being able to socialize one-on-one with someone?

Still, it is a kindness directed at Tine; she should not be overanalyzing it.

Not when the question that comes next is so ironic.

"Ah, I suppose I do. I've seen stranger things already.

I mean, this entire world is so removed from ours."

Here you are, alive and thriving, living the life that was taken away from you by another's selfishness.

"It might be an optimistic view, but I like to believe ghosts are quite kind"

"Stranger things..." Deirdre agrees with a hum. Yes, that is certainly one way to put it. The fact that they are both here, together, is definitely strange but it is also magical. "I think it is a blessing. I would have liked to have gotten to know you better when you were young but I am glad for the chance to do so now."

It might be optimistic to choose to believe in the kindness of spirits and ghosts but it is the view she chooses to have as well. There are too many she has loved and lost that she needs to believe they are able to watch over their loved ones with kindness.

"And when your duties take you from my side? What will I do then?" It would be easy, she thinks, if she could just stay by him always. But there have already been moments where he is called away and she is left waiting for him, even if they are only separated by rooms in this castle.

"Will it be like this in Chalphy, too? I admit the fairy tales I read as a girl did little to prepare me for what happens after the handsome knight rescues the cursed maiden from her solitude..." She gives his hands a gentle squeeze. It is difficult to imagine what her new home will be like. Every day her new life brings her some sort of experience she never would have imagined. If she thinks about it too much, it can be rather intimidating but feeling Sigurd's hands around her, seeing his eyes locked with her own...as long as they are together, she knows she has nothing to fear.

It was such an appointment that they had come to meet to begin with, and it would be such an appointment, once they returned to Chalphy, that would drag them apart. Never before had he considered the needs of the crown to be separate from his own desires, and while it was far enough off that it did not tug at his chest, the admittance that such a thing would be in their future tugged a sigh from him. 

He gave her fingers a little squeeze with his in return, grin turning lopsided. "But my usual campaigns last little more than weeks, and you will find the household staff of Chalphy to be accommodating – ah! They might show you the gardens, and the hills around the city are wonderful for riding - " 

Somehow, although she had told him and he had understood, the knowledge of her ostracism did not occur to him – that she would have been anything but beloved, by his friends or family, by his people, by any people who beheld her even for a moment and saw the same beautiful woman that he did, here seated in front of him, was as foreign a concept to him as if it did not exist. 

But she was seated here in front of him, and unavoidable was the quiet pitch to her voice, or the way that she made herself smaller. 

"How could anyone hate you, Deirdre? Cursed or not, what a baffling idea it would be, for anyone to look at you and not see what I see." 

That wasn't enough, and he knew it - what an oaf he was. 

The gardens must be beautiful. And large, if it is part of a castle. Everything in a castle seems so much grander. She cannot imagine its garden to be an exception.

"You will have to teach me to ride, then, if I am to enjoy the hills around the city properly." She would like to learn. She had never been so close to a horse until he pulled her up onto his. As much as she would like to simply sit with him on his steed, she should probably learn to ride independently of him, too.

But it is easy to reassure her that his home is hers, too. That she will be able to find a place for herself there and enjoy the life he has to give her. Her real worries lie in the opinions of others. He knows this, too, she can tell by the way his smile softens.

"It is always a knight that rescues the fair maiden and breaks her curse." She knows he means it and does not simply say it because it is what she wants to hear. It is why she fell in love with the stories Edain told of him and why she fell in love with him again when he swore himself to her under the canopy of trees in the Spirit Forest. It is his confidence and belief in their love that truly inspires her. If he can believe it, so can she. "They would not write so many stories like that if it were not true, would they? Though...it is usually a kiss that breaks the curse which we have done before."

It seems lonely though, knowing you’re the last of your kind. That short of any surprise survivors—unlikely at this point, he imagines—there well and truly is no one else left.

That said, the Ring Vault certainly does share the same design philosophy as most everywhere else once the guards on duty let him through. Such a massive dome for such small pedestals at its center, and the Emblem Rings set into them even smaller. One would need to practically stand right next to them to get a proper look, but doing so is understandably frowned upon; better safe than sorry no matter how respectful and well-behaved everyone might be. Kris knows that well enough as a knight himself.

The Emblem Rings may be small, intended to be worn on a person’s finger, but glancing up at the statues lining the walls–

“Prince Marth??” he blurts aloud without necessarily meaning to. Forgetting for an instant the sanctity of where he is, the presence of others come for similar reasons.

But, even without Sigurd, she still manages to find him. He is here, sculpted, right before her in this hallowed ring chamber. She could stand for hours staring up at his carved likeness wondering why exactly he was here. Deirdre knows, of course, that her husband is a hero in every sense of the word. If anyone deserves to be immortalized in a work of art, she knows it is Lord Sigurd. But why here.

She stares up at him, pondering his existence here and wanting to return home to ask him about it when she hears a startled voice that she recognizes. It seems she is not alone in her surprise at a familiar face.

A beat passes before the entirety of her words register. Right, of course it’s not just him noticing a familiar face or two here. There are enough of these larger-than-life figures that practically everyone visiting Lythos is bound to recognize at least one, and he’s yet to get a good look at the rest considering whose likeness he’d laid eyes on first thing.

“…He is my liege lord,” Kris answers simply, gaze returning to the statue in question; head tipped back to better study the replicated visage he knows like the back of his hand. “The prince of Altea, hailed by many as the Hero-King for his deeds over the span of two wars. This land is so far removed from our own that I was startled to find a statue of him here, but—”

It makes sense, doesn’t it? A hero among heroes leaving a mark on the pages of history such that he is revered even beyond the shores of his home? “I wonder what he would think if he could see this for himself,” he muses instead.

The Hero King is a grand title. Someone bearing such an epithet certainly would be revered enough to be featured in a place like this. It makes her proud to see her own lord, her beloved, standing so close to him.

As his own chocolates finished chilling, the boy steadily pushed each one out of the mould. The treats were shaped like little hearts, filled with a jam on the inside. They were supposed to be friendship chocolates, something to show his classmates his appreciation for having gotten the chance to learn with them.

However, as the topic of love kept being brought up by both the chocolatier as well as his fellow students naturally his mind began to wander. To a certain person he found himself admiring more and more..

His initial decision to make regular squares changed into hearts. A commonly liked caramel filling became a more specific flavor of Albinean berry jam.

“I wonder if he’d like these….” The boy found himself wondering, before promptly shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts- as well as the slight reddish tint that threatened to blossom on his cheeks.

And this does make a lovely excuse to get to know him. He may not be one of her own Black Eagles students but that hardly matters.

"I have never made anything like this before. Everything I learned to make growing up had to be created with ingredients I grew or foraged myself. It will be exciting to try something new."

Ashe then carefully listened to her speak as she explained her unfamiliarity with the lesson’s topic. “You grew your own food? That’s amazing!” The boy replied delightedly. “My parents used to do the same thing. You can taste the love if you grow em yourself, they always said.” He thought back to those times fondly. Times spent digging in their yard for fresh ingredients.

“But I’d be happy to help with the chocolates! I’m not exactly a master, but I know my way around a kitchen.” None of the equipment given to them had been unfamiliar. At most, their application took some getting used to, here and there.

"Let us help each other then, hm?" The heart shapes he has chosen for his chocolates do not escape her. There were other molds available. Circles, squares, shapes more suited to all of his friends. But she does not judge and she does not tease. "I am hoping to make mine for someone special, too."

“If the chocolates are for someone special, then.. do you have an idea for what kind of flavor you want to give them?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head. Briefly, he wondered who this special person could be. Surely a lady like her would have a husband or wife, right? ….would that be rude to ask?

"I thought that if I tried to make each piece completely identical on the outside, I could fill each one with a different filling. That way, we could eat them together and it would be a surprise for us both." She grins and considers whether or not to try adding liquor to any of them. Lord Sigurd might enjoy it but what if they wanted to share with Seliph? It is still difficult to think of him as old as he is now.

"You do not believe me, do you?" If he did, she does not think it would be so easy for him to laugh. She would miss his laugh.

Deirdre shudders and shrinks into herself when he asks if she has felt them. Reaching out, opening herself up to the Force around her is dangerous. Of course, that does not mean she has never done it. There have been times when the temptation, the need to feel some sort of connection, have been too strong to ignore.

"I have," she admits cautiously, eyes fixed firmly on the hand that rests at the hilt of his light saber. "It was faint once but it has grown stronger."

She grows silent as she considers his offer again, turning away from him to gaze out upon the swampy planet she has called home all eighteen years of her life. She has never known anything else. Looking out at the stars and imagining herself out there among them has only ever been a dream. But so has meeting anyone else and here she is still engaged with this Jedi.

It was that it did not matter. 

If he took a moment, if he allowed the Force to guide him and quieted his every natural instinct, Sigurd could admit that there was a spot of darkness in the middle of the galaxy, an inkstain that soaked and seeped and stained everything around it. He could even, thought it chagrined him, see the outline of that darkness shimmering behind Deirdre, even as the spoke now. 

But it did not matter. 

When he looked through eyes guided by the Force, he saw the light that suffused his every motion, he saw the radiance that seemed to vibrate from his skin, and Sigurd knew without being told - because he would not be told, it would not be acknowledged aloud - that there was something different with his connection to the Force. It was not as practiced or precise, but he felt within him the power of a sun, and when he looked at Deirdre now, there was nothing that he could imagine would not be drowned out by the light within him. 

And that included whatever Sith might come for her. 

When he reached forward this time, it was with his hand, fingers ghosting across hers until there was a tangible anchor between them, the beat of their pulses meeting in each fingertip. 

"I don't think my heart could take knowing that you are afraid – and alone," Sigurd said, and his voice dropped so soft and low that it was nearly drowned out by the croak and buzz of whatever else lived in this swamp. 

The Light shines from him into her like a lamp lit in a dark room. Deirdre wonders if, together, they might be able to chase the darkness within her out like shadows fleeing from the sun.

She looks up at him, his bright eyes twinkling down as he looks at her. He will protect her, he promises, and she believes that he can. She does not want to be alone any longer.

It does help a little knowing that Edain was there with him. As much as her husband worries about keeping her safe, she worries about him too. Edain knows how he is and Deirdre knows there is no other healer better than her dear friend. "I hope you did not need to take care of him too much. But... I do know him."

Her smile is forced but it is a relief to learn that Sigurd and Edain did not need to venture into the Aed. "You did not run into any cultists, then?" Would they have known her had she joined the expedition?

Deirdre looks at Edain's hand holding her own. A simple gesture but one that means the world to her. How many times had they held hands like this before? She has missed it terribly but it is hard to find comfort when Edain continues to speak.

"Of course. I will find something else to busy myself with."

It is not so difficult to find ways to help that pull her out of Lachesis's way. Supplies to replenish and organize, sailors to aid. She should be able to keep plenty clear of Lachesis but something keeps drawing Deirdre back to seek her out as they work.

Something seems to be bothering the Nordion woman. Deirdre knows, of course, that it could simply be her own presence. Things are strained between them at best and have been for some time now. But she still worries what if there is something more.

“Lady Deirdre. I’m quite all right.” She did not turn, but took a moment with her head down to swallow the heat that kept rising in her, and squeezed her eyes shut against the throb against her neck.

Deirdre would continue to ask - Lachesis knew that she would, or at least hoped that she would, not in particular because she wanted to hear it, but because it would have been evidence, at least, that the friend she knew was not entirely eroded down and erased by the flames of history.

Whether Lachesis felt enough herself to answer was a different story.

A groan, delicate, as a cool breeze filtered in through the window, truncated by the calls of another in greater need.

"My lady..." She frowns and stands as firmly as she can in the doorway. She has had practice convincing stubborn individuals to rest but it is far less intimidating when that individual is her own husband.

"These men are indeed ill but so are you." There is a pale pallor to Lachesis's cheeks that worries Deirdre and she did not miss the way the other woman sought out an open window for relief. "If you continue to push yourself, you will only end up joining them on a cot and I will be left to tend to you all on my own. But, if you sit down for a moment, have a glass of water yourself, and tell me what is truly troubling you, perhaps we can have you fully on your feet in no time."

She looks up at her friend, worry creasing the corners of her eyes. Deirdre cares about their charges, of course, but there is something personal about seeing Lachesis in distress. Even if the other woman ends up resenting her even more for it, she cannot simply ignore the signs that something is not right.