as a man who will be king, i must find a way

The tea will grow cold in this atmosphere. He has not seen Innes in some time and he's starting to wonder where things went wrong. If it was all those years ago or if it was something they could have fixed at all. Were they always destined to be this way? "…Do you remember when we repelled Grado from Frelia? Just before I set out toward Grado and Eirika toward Rausten. With the both of us, there was no army we could not turn that day." The battle had been fierce and neither had known just how deep the Demon King's rot had seeped. Their prowess was amplified because of their trust in one another. No matter how Innes had treated him, Ephraim knew he could trust him. Part of him still does. His tea sits untouched on the table between them. The unbroken surface reflects the clouds passing overhead and the shadows of branches that hang near them with flowering buds that touch the sun for the first time after the winter's grip. He sets his hand on the table, causing a ripple across its surface. "Tell me. Back then, when we were children, do you regret any of it? Would you do anything different?"

Innes doesn't know why Ephraim decided to join him. There are so many empty tables. Innes thought Ephraim would sooner jump in the lake, cup in hand, than sit with him.

Ephraim is here, regardless.

Innes' book is closed. Across the front is the embossed title: Tactics in the time of King Anri. Innes isn't certain who that is, but he borrowed the book anyway. At the top of the pages, just peeking out, is a bookmark made of pressed flowers.

"Of course I remember that battle. The entire was is difficult to forget." Everything had been set aside until the war had been won - including all personal feelings.

It was the closest Innes had felt to Ephraim. They'd never been close before or since, but it was the one time Innes felt he could call Ephraim a friend and mean it, however temporary it had been.

As for Ephraim's question, Innes says nothing for a few moments. There is much to say, and none of it can be worded delicately. For all of Innes' training in poise, expressing himself is still difficult.

"What would you like me to say, Ephraim?" Innes holds his tea as if the cup contains any of its long-lost wamth. "Would the truth truly make you happy?"

The flowers above them cast a shade in the afternoon sun. Innes can't help but look at them.

"Yes. I wish things had been different in many ways." How honest should he be? What would be the point in lying anymore? They aren't friends; he can't possibly make things any worse than they are.

"Since you insist on making me repeat myself, yes, I regret ever having any sort of feelings for you. I can assure you, that will never be a problem again."

This is at least partially true. Innes had always thought it was ridiculous what they said, that a first love would always hold a place in one's heart. There will always be a grain of Ephraim in there, no matter what he would like. Then again, Innes' wants and his heart do not matter: everything about him belongs to Frelia, including his hand in marriage. Whoever he ends up loving is quite irrelevant due to this. He has accepted that a long time ago - even if he were to indulge in dalliances while in the Academy.

All of this only deviates from Innes' point.

"Had I realised how I felt sooner, things would have been smoother. I look back now, and I understand why I behaved the way I had." His gaze falls to his tea, its surface unflincihng. "I wanted to be close to you."

It feels ridiculous to say out loud, but it's true. Why would Innes insist on so many duels? Why would he have attempted to engage Ephraim in political talks?

"You're aware I haven't exactly had many friends, yes? For a long time, Eirika was my first and only friend. I had no idea how to behave with my peers - I truly do not know how she put up with me." Innes sighs. "I had little in the way of friends until… well, until the Academy, I suppose."

His gaze flickers back to the bookmark. It had been such a small thing - Innes wonders if Katarina knows what it had meant to him.

"The only person I interacted with when I was a child was my sister. That was different - we were not peers. I had a duty to protect her; we weren't equals." Ephraim and Eirika are twins, but surely, Ephraim can understand this.

"Meeting you both was quite confusing for me at the time. My father was proud of his rivalry with King Fado, and hoped you and I could have a similar sort of friendship. Surely, that is what I had felt when I met you, this instant sort of rivalry. This was all that made sense at the time." He swirls the tea in his hand. "I misunderstood completely, for years, how I had felt. I wanted to be close, talk with you, fight with you. What else could it have been?"

Innes doesn't indulge often in the question of the kind of man he is interested in, but he has an inkling of his type - men he can fight with, and fight alongside. It would explain things, he thinks. Ephraim is not here for that discussion.

"I believed my feelings were for Eirika. How could I have known otherwise? I-" His grip on his cup tightens. "Men like me, openly in our social circles, are rare indeed. Even if they were not rare, I still think I wouldn't have known. I wouldn't have wanted to believe it."

The courtyard feels so quiet. It may be a nice day, but it's the sort of day reserved for them and them alone.

"Those feelings festered for years with no outlet. My only way to indulge them was through my actions. I realise this all now, though I know this changes nothing. I was rather incessant." He huffs, and he thinks it's meant to be a laugh. Innes isn't sure anymore.

"Had I realised sooner, yes, things would have been different. Perhaps we would have been friends, even. I had wanted us to be friends - you truly cannot understand how pleased I was to meet someone my age." His heart hadn't wanted just friendship. That fact makes Innes' skin crawl.

"If I could go back, I would shake myself. Why did no one shake me sooner? Perhaps my feelings had been rather subtle." Perhaps Innes really seemed like he hated Ephraim.

"I suppose all of this to say yes, I do regret it all. I wish things weren't as they ended up being, and I wish things were different now. However, this is the reality we live in. I have made my peace with it."

Flirting?!

That is most certainly not what Innes is doing! Sylvain is only making strange comments to throw Innes off his game. It isn't flirting. Innes wants to throw Creiddylad at Sylvain, but there are much bigger fish to fry, and more pressing matters.

For example, why has the arena shifted into something more ethereal and starry? Innes looks down at himself. Why is he in full wedding regalia? What in the gods' name is going on?

There isn't much time to think. He recognises one of his opponents: Sanaki. She's in his class. He doesn't know her, not really, but he knows enough that he's hesitant to strike her down. No matter: there are four others on the field.

Three, if you ignore Timerra's command. But Innes won't.

(If anything there is ample reason for her to give this her all, after her poor showing — to say the least — the previous round. Needless to say, she would have jumped into the fray unasked.)

And so she doesn’t chide the students for their bickering and superfluous chatter this time but locks eyes with the girl wielding that lance. Had she not been mentioned, Ayra might well have targeted her anyway: Lances have an advantage over swords that she will not brook when most of her students wield the latter, and her own is well-suited to mounted opponents besides.

Since Sylvain did mention that particular lancer, she will of course be going all out. The other foe she had in mind has received her Astra for one thing, and for another she could best him with no effort as she is now: her body and her sword (or her body as an extension of her sword) seem weightless for her divine gift. She will not waste it on a lesser enemy.

“ Let’s see you handle this! ”

With a war cry she rushes the girl, slashing first at the mount to force it to fly lower and then at the rider. The illusory foe is gone in an instant, dissipating into nothingness after three strikes. Needless to say Ayra finishes her combat art all the same, not for the sake of artistry — though she does pride herself on that — but simply for what it demands. Trying to halt Astra would be as futile as trying to halt a comet.

And the same could be said of the swordmaster herself: Although she could have left their three foes to her students, one to each, she hears the blade-song too clearly to ignore. It thrums in her blood, decides the rhythm of her heartbeat and overtakes her every sense. Her sword wreathed in starlight, she whirls about with all the force of a gale and strikes a certain presumptuous fool without pause — and without mercy.

“ The real man at least managed to land a hit, ” she says coolly, then strikes again to finish this mirage off. Her stance changes to defensive as she calls, “ That’s it for my help, the rest is up to you three. Strike quickly and decisively! ”

The second was merely personal. That was the monarch’s weapon in his homeland, the lance whose power he’d abide to for the rest of his life. Seeing it being wielded by a nobody, a fake person even, felt almost blasphemous in his eyes. “Look at her go! You’re really pulling the weight here, Professor Ayra!” Behind the usual cheer and flirt was a well concealed bitter flavor aimed not at the professor but her victim. Serves you right.

With that done though, the next target for his gaze was of course, Innes.

“C’mon, still all cold and hard to get? You’re lucky I like a challenge!” It was amusing that even Timerra seemed to join in, though he had to admit he wasn’t sure whether she really thought they were flirting or merely adding to the joke.

But then again, some flirting - real or not - never hurt, right? Even more towards a fellow guy who was definitely a noble and therefore had nothing to gain from taking him as a partner. Flirting was like a knife to be wielded, its jagged edge turned towards girls who eyed him like a prize and the blunt side towards anyone else who Sylvain didn’t register as a nuisance. Innes was on the side of the blunt edge. Disregard the racing heart, of course- but flirting always felt thrilling when Sylvain was actually into it. “What do you say, Innes? I want a dinner before everything goes down, got it? I’m a man with standards as much as I like your eyes and your pretty face!”

There could be two reasons for this.

They're simply too powerful (this is possible, if Innes is honest), or, more likely,

The church thinks it appropriate to mock them with pathetic opponents.

Innes grits his teeth. What kind of win is this if they can just squish the enemy like bugs? No doubt Ayra is powerful, but this feels too easy. Even at a disadvantage with a weapon Innes doesn't know, he still thinks he could tear the opposing group like paper. He readies his spell, when-

Oh. Good. Sylvain is back. Where is the harm in biting back this time?

"You will have to do much better than that - I'm afraid I also have standards." He cuts a glance at Sylvain. "I do not buy dinner for just anyone. And in any case, I am supposed to be a married man." He thinks, anyway. He cannot tell.

"And," Innes says, gearing up his spell, "I never said I was interested in you."

they both were formidable in a fight, lady nel especially she thinks. the other two she doesn't know, but she knows not to take them lightly.

timerra hums off tune, stretching her arms and her neck. it is only thanks to the familiar setting that she doesn’t panic. she does wonder if the divine one had lent some of their own creativity to this whole exercise– because the place they're in looks exactly like the arena back in the somniel.

though she doesn't recognize the bird she’s supposed to be flying here, she still pets its head with the hopes to bond with it. 

“hey, are you two gonna be flirting the whole time?” she calls out in a teasing tone to sylvain and innes with a laugh. “don't let that get in the way of the battle, yeah?” a grin tugs at her lips before addressing professor ayra now.

“i know lady nel’s– sorry, the girl with the black hair’s fighting style pretty well. i can distract her while you take on the rest, yeah?” 

Flirting?!

That is most certainly not what Innes is doing! Sylvain is only making strange comments to throw Innes off his game. It isn't flirting. Innes wants to throw Creiddylad at Sylvain, but there are much bigger fish to fry, and more pressing matters.

For example, why has the arena shifted into something more ethereal and starry? Innes looks down at himself. Why is he in full wedding regalia? What in the gods' name is going on?

There isn't much time to think. He recognises one of his opponents: Sanaki. She's in his class. He doesn't know her, not really, but he knows enough that he's hesitant to strike her down. No matter: there are four others on the field.

Three, if you ignore Timerra's command. But Innes won't.

It was only a glance- a mere second where he saw Timerra fall to the ground defeated after a brutal onslaught from the enemy, before the world became a chaos of flashing darkness. He was completely disoriented, vision stuck between a thick dark haze where the enemy became a series of elaborate blurs and an impossibly strong dizziness that seemed to affect even his own mount urging Sylvain to forgo any and whatever plans to act for the moment and focus on not accidentally plummeting to the ground and joining Timerra in her demise.

Demise? She wasn’t really gone, right? This was just an exercise. She was fine. “Dammit, it keeps messing up with my eyes!” For a moment the spell casted upon him differed- a cold claw gripping down on his spine and draining him of energy in a way that felt far too similar to getting struck head on by a Nosferatu. Before Sylvain could even make sense of it however, the flashing darkness resumed and he forced his drake to land at the nearest corner they could reach.

“Argh…great, now my head’s killing me.” It was through the growing migraine that his body fully froze in place, a grim cloud looming over as his eyes finally adjusted to the battlefield again. Timerra was up and running, except her actions seemed off.

Her entire being seemed off. This wasn’t the girl he had playfully winked at or seized not long ago, who held herself together fine in battle while keeping a warm, cheery disposition that would’ve been infectious if he hadn’t been up in the air. This looked wrong, and his mount noticed it as well as it hissed in her direction and attempted to flare out its wings to seem bigger and more threatening.

Confusion with a dash of fear took over his heart. “Hahah, hey…what’s up with that? Timerra?” Should he call out for her? Maybe she was just messing around- but Professor Ayra was also acting all sorts of off earlier because of an attack, too. “Get it together, Timerra! What are you doing?” Not wanting to let desperation color his voice, Sylvain took to the skies again while trying to keep his eyes on the girl- despite the doubled vision.

She was fine. This was just going to be a temporary effect, and she'd be just fine later. He had to believe that- because otherwise the implications would be far too much to face alone.

Innes almost drops his staff. Before his eyes, he sees the change. She should be unconscious. She isn't the same person. She is not their ally. He doesn't get a chance to grasp for his tome before Timerra hits him.

She isn't going easy on him either. That hurt. Innes grimaces.

"Timerra is no longer our ally. We must prepare to take her out before she can take us out." Innes knows he alone has the strength to get rid of her. There is no choice: even if the others will not, Innes will do what must be done to protect the others.

He couldn't save her with his healing, but he can save the others with Creiddylad.

His choice will not be popular, and he knows this. He silently asks for forgiveness, before the pages of Creiddylad activate for him once again. Light tears through Timerra, and Innes at least gives her the respect she deserves, and watches.

it’s when she sees the professor clutching her head in agony that the creature gets the best of her. she doesn't shout out for ayra but somehow it knows.

she gasps as she’s knocked off her wolf by a blow of dark magic, the wind knocked out of her. she stumbles to the ground, just barely avoiding hitting any of the fragile parts of the body. “Ouch..!” she hisses to herself as she pushes herself off the ground, her wolf rushing to her side with worried whines. 

“i’m okay boy.” she smiles to her wolf as genuinely as she can. for being an illusion he sure acts like a real solm wolf. unfortunately for timerra it’s a moment of vulnerability for the monster to act on.

she freezes completely, mouth slightly open. her wolf whines, circling around its master and wondering why she isn't moving at all.

He watches as dark magic knocks into Ayra, knocks Timerra from her mount, and another blast comes straight towards him. He manages to move out of the way, just in time, to watch the magic explode in a wall behind him. Had he not moved, the magic could have struck him.

He looks to Timerra, who cannot move. She's hurt. He pulls the staff strapped to his back free, and points it to Timerra. With this, he can protect her. He can't save her from her paralysis, but he can make sure another blow won't kill her.

"professor ayra!?" she gasps, pushing her sword up only to defend and deflect the strike against her. what was she was doing!?

then ayra falls back, and timerra watches the sword clatter to the ground. her expression turns to serious worry. the professor had gotten her out of danger when she thought she was seeing merrin on the battlefield. she only owed the same, even if she wasn't sure what ayra was seeing in her.

"don't worry professor, i got you!" timerra pulls lightly on the reigns, calling her wolf to a hault in front of the woman for a moment with the tug and a short whistle. "i'm not sure what kind of magic that thing used but… we'll take care of these things. stay back until you can really shake it off." a genuine smile tugs at her lips as she nods towards the woman, then moves straight back into action.

so these bastards wanted to pit them against each other, huh? not on her watch. fog rolls back into view, but timerra uses the pinpoint senses of her wolf to sniff out the real monster. automatically does her hand grasp at the fracture staff strapped to her waist.

"you can stay down!" she hisses, pointing the staff at it and casting fracture without even a second of thought. the creature stumbles backwards and falls, vulnerable.

"innes, sylvain!" she barks both their names, steering her wolf closer to both. "we gotta take those clones out! the less we're dealing with the better!"

And it's only then that he notes something has happened to their professor.

Ayra has been struck by the enemy. Innes doesn't have the time to really do much to help, but there's nothing he can do, either. He can only heal wounds, nothing else. He looks to Sylvain, wide-eyed. It's not as if Sylvain can do anything, either.

They must press on.

Creiddylad activates for him once again, and a circle of light cuts around the enemy, before exploding into bright white shards. The clone disappears, almost like it had never been there in the first place.

"If we can remove the last clone, we will stand a far better chance," Innes says.

okay yeah, it did remind her of sombron and that was a little fear inducing but she was hardly afraid to the point of not being able to move. she’s actually a little bit offended that they think so little of her!

while ayra heads straight for the huge monster her wolf barks at her, snapping her into action. he clearly is offended they thought she was afraid too. wolves– at least the ones that come from solm– are attuned to their master’s emotions after all.

 “alright boy, let’s show them what wolf knights are made of! she smirks, hopping on her mount with ease. she doesn't need this whole illusion thing to know how to ride a wolf! “innes, you're gonna be the one hiding behind me!” she taunts him directly because its his comment that offends her the most,

and sylvain… is just being sylvain. timerra decides to ignore him for the moment. 

“let’s go!” she commands with a snap of her reigns with one hand. princess of solm heads directly into battle after ayra with her sword drawn bravely outward. ayra’s command of the sword is impressive– and strangely timerra finds herself really wanting to wow the woman. 

His gaze cuts to Sylvain. "Will you cease your incessant winking? This is a battlefield, not a bar. Do not make me warn you again."

Would Innes be deducted points for maiming an ally? None of this is real, so it's not like it would matter. He thinks back to Sylvain's comment - eyes like jewels.

No. He keeps his eye on their professor, who cuts effortlessly into the enemy. Impressive, really. While the main body is a very real threat, they ought to take care of the clones - it's one less enemy for them to fight.

The pages of Creiddylad flicker as the words on the page call to him. He will not sing, but he will hum as he casts. It keeps him focused, somehow. The song calls to him, like the embrace of an old friend.

timerra can't help but grin as she gives her little guy the most generous scritches ever and doesn't pay attention to the conversation the others are having. just because he wasn't necessarily real doesn't mean he didn't deserve to be pet.

she's knelt downward to her wolf's height when they all finally materialize into the next setting. solm's princess looks up, blinking at the enemies they face.

she sincerely hopes she's seeing things.

"uh, guys?" timerra hurries to catch their attention, pointing to the huge demon-like figure that reminded her just a little to much of sombron. (it probably didn't help that this illusionary place had given her the same feeling from way back... )

"are you seeing what i'm seeing?"

His eyes flicker to where Timerra is looking. "Yes, I do see that." It isn't real. None of this is, so there's no need to panic. Innes readies Creiddylad, flicks its pages open.

This time, unlike the last, he reads the pages. He doesn't know the language on the pages, loopy and long-legged, but he can understand it. Speak it, even.

Sing it.

Ayra hangs back, naturally, watching as banter is exchanged and the battle unfolds. The less they rely on her, the better, and they are doing well enough for themselves besides. She will step in if, and only if, the fight takes a turn for the worse... or if she’s directly asked.

After all, how could she deny a student who has just taken down an enemy and learned her lesson besides? She makes no reply, but darts forward and dispatches of the healer in one fell swoop.

He looks off to an enemy in the distance, which doesn't count as looking down, as it isn't looking straight down. He begins again, energy pooling within, and he strikes at his foe.

His foe wobbles, staggered. Innes cannot help but smirk; another job well done. That sword cannot reach from here. Yet the blade collapses as the shadow swings for him, forming more of a whip-like shape. Innes doesn't have time to dodge, and the weapon strikes him.

"What in the world is that?" Even worse, the shadow's wounds seem to have been completely healed. "Remain cautious - the enemy can steal our life force."

Or, had Innes even dealt damage in the first place?

But he knew better than to underestimate the Academy’s machinations, as it seemed like each time Sylvain thought he had it easy and all was good, something managed to come out of nowhere and give him a ridiculous amount of work. Can’t a guy just slack off sometimes? This world was so harsh. Just as he flew past the funny hat guy a second time with a chuckle ready at his lips, the heir allowed himself to actually pay attention to the battlefield just this once- during his time in the air, it had changed.

“So, more and more enemies huh? I guess we’re in for an endurance test type of deal.” The ginger mused to himself, brows lifting slightly at the idea. If this field was to endlessly generate new foes then they’d need to keep an eye out to avoid getting overwhelmed- even if their enemies seemed rather weak despite their tough looks. “Nice, I like a change of pace.” Sylvain adjusted his grip on the Yato once more as if trying to check how to hold it most comfortably, his pegasus circling a wretched looking dragon to prepare for a diving attack. The golden blade was raised high in the air-

”Oh, hey! You can do this Timerra, that troubadour got nothing on you! I’ll cheer you on!” The sword struck the beast once, twice maybe, yeah the dragon tried to fight back but failed, who cares about that ugly thing when Timerra, beautiful Timerra, was out in the field fighting and…missing…an attack but still looking gorgeous while doing it? Sylvain had no incentive to pay attention to that creature more than simply glancing at it to check if it was really dead before flying back to where his team stood, a playful flirty wink directed at the royal from above. “Heyyy, did you see that? Piece of cake! Girls love a strong guy on a beautiful hors-” His mount jostled. “Pegasus, I mean! C’mon Jackie, don’t be cranky!” It was Jackie, right.

That man on the pegasus flies past him and makes some sort of jab, which Innes can't help but bite back. "At least I haven't applied mascara to my pegasus. Are you afraid that people would be unable to tell it's a female pegasus?" He scoffs.

He opens his tome again, readying himself for another enemy. The pages flip as he casts, energy filling him up-

Until he looks down. His stomach lurches. He holds the reins and keeps himself upright, just barely. He's dizzy, but he must focus. He must press on, no matter how the ground seems to close in on him. He holds his head up high.

Onwards, Innes. A prince must not show fear.

His mount soars across the field, until Innes finds an enemy. A healer: one should never underestimate the power of healing. Except when one is an unwilling healer, of course. He tries not to look down as he fills his body with magic one again, feeling the light of a goddess Innes cannot name.

Or, perhaps he could, if he wanted to. He does not serve her; he is merely asking for her aid.

With a swing of his arm, he casts, light spearing through the enemy. Another one dispatched. His victory is short lived when his wyvern is struck in the side. It shrieks in pain, and Innes panics. With a flick of his wrist, he knocks back the undead creature, and puts a hand on his wyvern.

"Are you alright?" he asks. "I promise you, I will not allow harm to come to you again." For he is Innes of Frelia, and princes do not fail.

Innes still can't say he's fond of it. He's never been a great fan of heights, and now, atop a wyvern, white robes and sash billowing, he hates it. He holds onto his wyvern's reigns tightly. This isn't Innes at all. His staff is attached securely to his back, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice.

This is ridiculous. He is no healer, he is an archer. He is a man of action.

The enemies seem to come from nowhere, though it could be that Innes lost his focus. There's three of them, all ready to strike. He turns his wyvern to face combat, but stops. As if Innes could mistake this man for anything else. Adorned in the deep purples that Innes knows all too well, a darkness hanging over him.

"Prince Lyon!" No. This isn't him. He's spoken to the prince of Grado since arriving at the Academy. There's a softness to him now, a rounded edge that this Lyon doesn't have. This is all fake, is it not? So why does he seem so real? Does it matter?

"Demon King, Prine Lyon, fake or not, I care little. You have consistently ruined every part of my life. You are the very bane of my existence. You have taken so much from all of us." With one hand, he flicks open Creiddylad, which sits snugly on his lap.

"How poetic. A creature of evil like you bested by the forces of light. I will beat you at your own game, Prince Lyon."

Bright particles of light surround Innes as he begins casting, energy pouring from him. A circle cuts in the ground below Prince Lyon, before exploding in a blast of light.

He raises his arm to cover his eyes, and attempts to attack Innes back. The wyvern seems to know how to move on instinct, dodging the attack beautifully. It seems Innes may have blinded Prince Lyon. Good.

"I truly hope your end is painful." And he hopes to never see him again.