together

“Of course I want to. Did I say something wrong?” Merric looked confused; he’d thought his intentions were fairly clear. But then, knowing Elrean… he likely expected some kind of sabotage.

“It’s not charmed or anything. You can check it if you’d like.” He still held the necklace out to Elrean. “Or… if you weren’t interested, I understand. I didn’t consider whether it would be your style.”

Merric looked contemplatively at the pendant for a moment, then back to Elrean. “But.. I’d like you to have it. If it might keep you a little safer, then it’s doing its job.”

Elrean takes it, squinting at it after Merric mentions its lack of a charm.  upon close scrutinizing, it looks clean, as he said.  the pendant swings from side to side a little.  he can see it’s nicely crafted.  he doesn’t wear many superfluous accessories.  couldn’t some one choke him with this??  couldn’t some one grab him??  the leather would leave a rough burn against his neck...

he closes his eyes, and wordlessly, ties it around his neck before tucking it into his clothes.

his face is flushed, in embarrassment.  he hates moments like these -- where Merric corners him and acts strangely and makes his heart pound so strangely.  with the favor tucked away, its weight heavy on his chest, he glares back at Merric.

❝ if that’s it, i’m going. ❞

“I did bring food,” Merric confirmed, then to clarify: “It would be awful if we got hungry and had to walk back in the heat. I’d feel a bit bad if one of us fainted.” Of course, it would probably be Merric who would feel the effects of the heat first. Elrean was likely used to it before Merric had even arrived in Khadein so long ago.

He had a feeling that wasn’t what Elrean meant, though. Merric could see something about Elrean’s posture lacked his usual brusque confidence, and it wasn’t due to discomfort over the weather.

“At the very least, we already know where we’re going, and that it should be empty. I don’t think the two of us would have made it through last time without help.” He hoped that piece of optimism, plus a tentative smile, might raise Elrean’s spirits a little. “We can get down to business and leave no corner unexamined, and then we’ll go back.”

His smile shifted into something more contemplative. “You could have asked Wendell to let you go alone, if you wanted to.”

...Merric talks too much.  or maybe it’s just that he’s saying the wrong things.  there’s been many times they’ve had these sort of one-sided conversations, with Merric doing most of the work, and Elrean doesn’t mind them so long as Merric says the right things.

this time, Elrean has the cognizance to hold his tongue.  he’s never spoken about that disgusting den of blasphemy, so there’s no reason Merric would know not to speak so casually about it.  he wasn’t even there.  maybe if he were, Elrean may never have --

useless to think of it, now.

❝ no, ❞ he finally replies, voice firm and very solid.  ❝ if he’d just asked me to go alone, i...  i’d have taken some one anyway. ❞

and not just to be safe, in case there were more cultists around.  not because of the threat of wyverns, or bandits, or anything, but because Elrean knows he never wants to go back to that hell hole again.

i have just two reasons ya’ll are sleeping on the real ship:

(make it bigger)

❝ a…  pendant?? ❞

he looks at it skeptically.  despite the reigning logic that Merric would not and would actually avoid hurting Elrean, experience has taught him to hesitate.  he could count with only his hands the number of gifts he’s received in his entire life that weren’t just petty pranks or tricks, and all of them had been from Wendell.  he…  trusts Merric, doesn’t he??  he’s still not so sure.

❝ as a favor.  you’re talking about… ❞  for luck, in battle…  but to give Elrean one, it must mean that he’s dear to Merric, which doesn’t make much sense at all.  again, the wind mage befuddles him so completely with a single movement.

“Al-right, grumpy pants. Guess that’s good enough.” Xane unceremoniously plopped down onto the floor, and gave Elrean a dramatic eyeroll that he was sure the mage could see. He expected that was the closest thing to a promise that he was going to get.

After a moment of contemplation, he started pushing the books into some semblance of a pile – the same way someone might sweep up a deck of cards that had fallen on the floor. It was sort of fun, and it would definitely annoy Elrean. “So… where’s the maps? I looked for ‘m’ kinda books, but they sure ain’t there.”

he’s kidding if he thinks that’s cleaning up.  well, it’s Xane.  of course he’s kidding.  Elrean glares at the pile for a brief moment -- long enough that it should be evident he’s not accepting it as ‘cleaned up’ in the slightest.

❝ come find me whenever you clean it up, ❞ he returns with a scowl.

“Eww,” Xane complained, making a face that Elphin likely couldn’t see anyways. “A ‘demon dragon’? Don’t lump me in with those feral guys. If I was anythin’ like that, some human would’a come cut me down years ago.” It only figured that humans from other lands would have pretty much the same story to tell.

“…Nah, I’m a divine dragon. You got nothin’ to worry about from me.” He was already onto the next topic, uninterested in holding a grudge over something so minor. It wasn’t Elphin’s fault that humans as a collective didn’t know this stuff. “I’m sure hopin’ that the dragons ‘round you have a different story…”

Something occurred to him then. “Say, you know another divine dragon? Did she end up here too?” Xane’s steps paused as he looked to Elphin expectantly. “Just ‘cause, uh… no reason.”

Elphin chuckles.  he hears the cadence in Xane’s steps change with his question...  perhaps he’s lonely, or looking for a friend.  divine dragons are rare enough in Elibe, Elphin can only assume the same holds true for other lands, especially given Xane’s response.

❝ yes, i believe Miss Fae is also here, ❞ he replies.  ❝ you may be disappointed, however...  she’s still a child, despite her age. ❞

he pauses in a way that denotes his subject change.  ❝ it sounds as though Elibe does have a different story...  i’ve never heard of a feral dragon.  the demon dragon was named thus after her soul was removed from her body, and she became little more than a weapon of war... ❞

he laughs again, an airy sound, befitting of a bard.  ❝ i know many songs of the Scouring, if it’s a story you’d like to hear. ❞

     At first, Saias thinks nothing of the foreign voice that pipes up somewhere behind his form, though the suddenness of it causes for the archbishop to tense up ever so slightly. At first, he simply believes it is another priest, and one who would dismiss themselves upon hearing his answer. That is, of course, until the young man turns around, and a once dull and lost stare finds itself immediately adorning an almost horrified set of gleams, albeit they not the sort born from being scared. To say that Saias has met the person who stands before him would be naught but a lie, however his appearance– his hair, his robes, the way he carries himself– match so closely to the description of Father Claude that the archbishop would occasionally hear when conversing with others of the same position. Should he kneel? Bow? Without any time to prepare for such an encounter, let alone expect to ever actually meet him, the tactician finds himself at a loos.      So, with a rather tense but straight posture, Saias opts to start with answering the other’s question.

          “…Indeed, father– I did,”

     He falls silent for a moment, if only to try and hastily gather and organise the thoughts racing about within the confines of his mind. Of all things– of all people–, it had to be someone like him who just so happened to want to visit the tower at the same time as himself. 

          “–But if you do not wish for me to be present, I can take my leave and return once you are finished.”

❝ nonsense, of course you can stay, ❞ Claude replies with a small smile.  his eyesight isn’t too keen these days -- the familiar path to the tower made the trip easier, but while there’s something strikingly familiar to the man before him, Claude can’t find any real identifiable features.  his robes are close enough to the clergy fare he’s familiar with, and in the context of standing right outside the tower, Claude can be reasonably confident that he finds himself speaking to a fellow member of the church.  however far he out-ranks him, or whatever corner of Jugdral he hails from, Claude can’t tell.

he steps forward, intending to enter the building on his own.  ❝ i enjoy company, if you would join me.  these days, we could use all the praying we can muster, hmm?? 

    At the second time Ulster uses a metaphor about arrows being in someone’s mouth, Deimne cracks a laugh. The arch knight’s sense of humor breaks through, simple as it is, and by the time Deimne thinks to hold back, it’s too late to have stopped it.

He… really is laughing with a Crusader, isn’t he? And he had just been scolding his sister on letting her walls down like this. He holds up his hand over his bottom lip and sighs.

❝ Alright. Well, I’ll be in your service for as long as I can continue trying to keep up, mmhm? I want to see Isaach back together under your cousin, and then… maybe I’ll be able to help with the rest of Jugdral. That would be nice. ❞

Ulster isn’t completely sure why Deimne starts laughing, but he’s glad enough to see the knight a little more at ease with him.  it puts that easy grin back on his face, and he leans back into his seat, stretching comfortably.  it’s well-past sundown by now, and they should probably get rest for when they wake up and reclaim the country together.

❝ well, we’re happy to have you!! ❞  Ulster replies.  ❝ you know i’ll be in it for the long-haul, and i’d never say no to an archer like you at my side. 

“I’m fine, I think. That guy didn’t really have anything on Mia.” Mist let out a light laugh. The situation was still overwhelming to her, the quiet in her mind leaving her unsettled compared to the constant whispers she’d been hearing from Yune for a period of time. 

She glanced around, relaxing a little and lowering the Florete when she saw that the forces had been pushed back. She turned, glancing Rafiel up and down to make sure he was unharmed as well as she sheathed her sword and reached for a healing staff on impulse. 

“Looks like it’s over for now.” She commented with forced calm, trying to hide her own unease and discomforts. Not that it would do much good, she realized belatedly. Trying to hide your emotions from an empath like the herons all were was a doomed exercise. Maybe she could at least lie and say it was just concern about Jill. “You’re good, yeah?”

❝ i’m unharmed, ❞ Rafiel answers with a small smile touching his lips.  good in this world is subjective.  he finds peace in the absolute order that Ashera’s judgment has granted them, but another battle brings uneasy feelings.  he knows by now they’ll dissipate the moment the fight is over, but it doesn’t ease his heart.

❝ i’m sorry, Mist, but...  it is very difficult for me to see in the dark, ❞ he continues.  ❝ even trying to make it back to the campfire...  i know i’ll trip. 

“What, did I stumble into a confessional by mistake?” Lewyn’s gaze shifted over to Claude. Otherwise, though, his relaxed lean on the stack of convoy supplies didn’t change. With the organizational chaos that crossing the strait to Silesse had caused, he could get away with sitting around now and then instead of chipping in with the heavy lifting. He was not good at heavy lifting.

If only Claude hadn’t caught him. Still, it was a step up from Erinys, whose presence would make him feel obligated to at least put in a little effort.

“Don’t worry, I can still play just fine. I’ll prove it.” He reached for where he usually set his lute, down around his feet, only to remember that it had been misplaced in transit too. A disgruntled sigh escaped him as he straightened back up. At least his flute was simple enough to tuck into his sash. “Sorry… I’ll find my lute eventually. I suppose that makes that decision for me.”

It was much easier to disguise his unease with simple strings than it was with a wind instrument, but Lewyn had to guess that Claude knew his feelings already. In the bard’s defense, being away from home had made him carefree and happy. Being back here, on the other hand, reminded him of being told his “hobby” wasn’t worth the time he spent on it. He fiddled with his flute, the ghost of a frown on his face.

❝ if i’m bothering you, you can tell me to leave, ❞ Claude says with a smile.  he hadn’t meant to unnerve Lewyn any further, but sitting alone in a pile of things that needed organizing certainly couldn’t be helping his mood.  Claude may not know the bard well, but moping around is never good for any one.

there’s a clear hesitation in the way Lewyn holds his flute.  maybe finding his lute would be enough to lift his spirits??  at least, that’s the idea Claude comes to.  he’d be busy at work organizing their convoy and moving some of the heavier boxes that he wouldn’t burden others with.  since he’s already been sorting their things, Lewyn’s lute is bound to be among those he hasn’t yet organized.

❝ i didn’t mean to ask for a song you don’t wish to play, ❞ he continues.  ❝ but i have been sorting through our supplies now that things are settled.  we can look for your lute together, if you wouldn’t mind helping. 

     SO IT WAS BRAGI’S BLOOD THAT DID THIS — Bragi’s blood that beckoned him so. In the end, was birthright so much more than one’s own chosen path? The search for an answer only bears anxious fruit; this is the burden of Valkyrie’s chosen. This just a sample of what it is like to taste the truth, and it already makes him uneasy. He cannot imagine going up to Bragi Tower and appealing for the future.

❝ If I ignore it, will I regret it, do you think? ❞ He asks for wisdom, and in that moment it feels a little more like they really are father and son. 

will he regret it??  it’s a fair enough question -- even if Claude doesn’t feel entirely equipped to answer it.  it’s a question Coirpre might ask his father, and even as the circumstances are aligned thusly, Claude can’t claim that honor as his own.

❝ i don’t think so, ❞ he answers.  he tries to supply his response with a smile.  even if he’s unsure if his answer is correct, he can at least supplement it with a bit of advice that might help...

❝ but whichever you decide, you can be assured that your choice is correct.  fate is interwoven in all the holy weapons, and in all their bearer’s blood.  if you deny the staff, you can rest assured that it knew, and that you were always meant to leave it with me for your time here.

Merric had been aware that Elrean never quite liked him. He hadn’t pinpointed the reason why, and had been truly alarmed when the situation had escalated to the extent that Elrean would attempt to kill him. He’s been wary of the mage since then, wondering where he’d gone wrong. It had taken Lord Wendell’s reprimand to diffuse the situation, and Merric wished to believe that Elrean had learned his lesson. 

“Er … no. Did I imply as much?”

What was he doing wrong? Why did Elrean despise him so?

“I know that this might be awkward. But, you must believe me when I say bear you no ill will.” 

❝ i’m aware, ❞ he replies.

as if it weren’t obvious ( in retrospect ) from the look on Merric’s face when Elrean first opened Thoron to get the first strike, to how quickly the wind mage was to flee after Elrean announced their impromptu duel.

to do something with his hands, he removes a book he’d been reading from his pack.  he’s always felt better with a book in his hand -- magic or not.

“Hmph. It’s just us, guy.” Severa grumbled, leaning over to look him in the eyes. She followed his hand to the sword warily, stepping back as he stood up and letting her fingers casually trail over to her own hilt. She may never have been able to use Falchion, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t good with her blade. One of these days she’d even prove she was better than her sister. 

“Not even seen anyone dressed like you in a couple months. What, are you from Chon’sin or something?” 

She shrugged, stretching a little as she carefully stepped outside his reach. That should keep him from seeing her as a threat, at least, and this was the first social interaction she’d had in weeks that wasn’t paying for a room or working for some scumbag to earn a little cash. 

“Did you hit your head on the way down or something?” She scoffed, holding up three fingers. “Here, how many am I holding up. Man, do you even know where you are?”

keeping a steady glare, Ulster sheathes his blade.  he keeps both hands on it, ready.  it’s become a comfortable position for him anyway.

her badgering earns an exaggerated eye-roll from him, and if he weren’t so dead-set on showing her not to mess with him, he’d probably have turned away dramatically.

❝ of course i know!! ❞ he replies.  ❝ i’m Prince Seliph’s retainer -- you know, the one saving us all from Loptyr?? ❞

he glances around.  grass, rolling hills, and plenty of foliage...  this wasn’t Darna, or Yied at all.  bits of his memory were still lost from him...  could he really forget finally making it to Leonster??  he definitely remembers looking forward to testing Prince Leif’s blade against his own, and he couldn’t remember that happening in reality...