peerless parmesan.

The dark mask scared his opponents in battle, giving him an edge in surprise attacks and moral. It hid his own emotions from his opponents (and others), which made sure he did not give away his tactics. It also restricted his view, but that was simply another shortcoming to train around.

However, none of those excuses reasons worked for why he wore the mask to bed.

Gerome gestured for Shiro to lean closer, as if he would conspiratorially share his reasoning once the other was close enough that none might somehow overhear their conversation.

It was too bad Shiro couldn't see his expression or he might give away what he was about to do. Once Shiro had leaned sufficiently close, Gerome answered in his same deadpan tone, "It's none of your business. Now leave me alone about it."

not everyone has to share their secrets.

he knows.

mind your own business, shiro! keep things to yourself, shiro! you'd hate it too if someone started prying too, shiro! but, now that the trap's been laid out and that at least he knew gerome could hear him ( as long as he wanted to, at least. whether or not he'd continue to was another question entirely ) and was at least willing to entertain him enough even if it was just to yank his chain, he couldn't just let it go. could he? maybe? "alright, how about just a hint?"

When Dimitri smiled at him in return, he ensured that it was not a strained, tight smile, though he squinted somewhat, flicking his eyes to the middle distance. "I suppose that is an optimistic view of it – perhaps if this magic technology continues to develop, it is possible that Aillel can be converted into livable space, if not...er, a space that one might consider for a daytrip with a picnic." 

Blasphemy notwithstanding. 

The irreverence was...almost refreshing, as cool and friendly against his skin as the spell itself, and Dimitri found himself thinking that Shiro wasn't unlike a dear friend of his. Also vibrant, also irreverent. 

Hopefully not as much of a handful. 

( or is that maybe shiro and his friends are too laid back? )

arms drop back down to his sides, and shiro straightens back his shoulders a little—peeking at him from the corner of his eye to try and mimic his posture to at least look like he knew how to act. "should we split up?" it sounded like a bad idea. they hadn't run into anything so far, but he doesn't know if it's because they were lucky or because nothing could actually survive here without this magic at-hand. "if they weren't lost, we wouldn't be looking for 'em. and if they're lost, they're not going to be waltzing around the most obvious path." his thumb and index fingers pinch at the hem of his shirt, playing with a frayed thread.

“Why are you even participating in a faith studies assignment?” Mitama asks as she inspects the…contraption Shiro holds distastefully. It is reminiscent of karakuri puppets from home, though different in visual style. It is also, very clearly, a baby. The last thing that people like them had any business taking care of, in her opinion. “You do not have any talent for magic or babies, so I cannot imagine what would make you a candidate for this.”

…he did get along with Kana and Kiragi quite easily… “That was harsher than intended. What I meant is that, when presented with the concept of fatherhood, your image does not come to mind.” And Dusk take them, she hopes it stays that way for quite some time.

Mitama sighs and pinches her nose. Shiro has a baby now. A fake one, but one that he needs to treat as a baby all the same. Which means that, by association, she now has a baby to tend to. Wonderful. Life was full of so many joys. “I suppose that sending it to a deeprealm is off the table, hmm?”

As though it heard her comment, the baby suddenly springs to life with a wail. Mitama jerks back, hand raised midway to a spell. “Oh, good. It makes noise. That is wonderful.”

that and, like. pour a tea set right.

but, when is that ever going to be practical knowledge that he needs to know? never!

taking care of a baby, though?

"why not?" shiro replies, shrugging off his retainer's skepticism like water. "what if i just wanted to prove a point?" that sounds vague enough, right? that like, she wouldn't ask questions? the real answer was that it was because he wanted to get why mitama complained so much about her assignments, but she'd probably hit him for saying so. she wasn't wrong to say he lacked the talent, though. "it's, uhhhh. practical, or something, like that." he smiles a bit awkwardly.

"no deeprealms," not this time. "it's not that bad. it's just—"

and then, the baby starts crying, so shiro starts shaking it as he considers his answer. "it makes noises, but if you shake it enough; it just stops!" the doll's neck seems to lock for a second, then its limbs go limp while he dangles it by the back of its clothes. "pretty sure this is how my dad handled me as a kid."

What he does notice is the softness in the boy’s voice now. He doesn’t seem so annoyed by Ryoma’s presence now. That annoyance is explained so clearly by three simple words: ‘I’m your son’. They’re words Ryoma cannot wrap his head around, even as the syllables rattle in his mind.

A son. He has a son.

He had wanted children. He wanted a large family like his own, full of love and happiness. It isn’t solely because he needs an heir, but because he wanted a family, too. A loving spouse, their children - all of it. He was foolish and naive of course, for he ended up having no children and no spouse, but the want is still there.

He looks at Shiro, and he sees it then. He sees the resemblance - echoes of his family in the boy’s face. Of course he would call his son something as ostentatious as Shinonome: the dawn. He understands why he would have called him that. He understands why Shiro would shorten it, too. Everything clicks so perfectly into place that Ryoma wants to rip his heart out of his chest.

It’s another reminder of a life he could have lived, if things were different. Shiro is another piece of another path that was not followed.

“What?” It’s not an eloquent thought, but it’s the only word that comes out of his mouth. You’re not my dad, but I’m your son. He can chew on those words until his death bed, yet it still won’t feel real. He wonders if anyone else knows about this. Is this why Ryoma was asked to take Shiro? Surely not.

“I can’t believe this,” he says quietly. But he can. Kamui had chosen Hoshido. Sakura had fought for both. There are so many timelines converging into Fódlan that it’s hard to keep track of. There’s at least one reality, one path, where Ryoma has a family. No wonder Shiro seemed so annoyed by him. ‘I’m Shiro, you are- NO.’ He is a young man aggravated by spending time with his father; it makes much more sense now.

A son. Ryoma cannot get over this fact. He wants to throw a thousand questions at Shiro, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. A part of him wants to cry, but that urge is buried as deep as it will go: Ryoma will not cry in front of the poor boy. He wouldn’t be able to explain even a fraction of why.

“My Hoshido is…” No. It does not matter how old Shiro seems, he’s still a boy. (Would Ryoma still think this if he didn’t know Shiro was his son? He doesn’t know.) He can’t know the truth - not the full truth - just as he refuses to tell Sakura more than she needs to know.

“Nohr won the war,” he says. “Hinoka is now the queen of Hoshido.” Something Ryoma will feel guilty about for the rest of his days. He doesn’t want to tell Shiro more than he needs to know. “What about your Hoshido? Is everyone well?” Did you lose anyone in your Hoshido? He doesn’t ask that - he can’t find the words to ask that. “Though, I suppose you’re a little young to remember the war, are you not?” If Ryoma were to hazard a guess, Shiro must be about twenty. Assuming Shiro must be from another timeline, he could well come from the future of another timeline.

Or perhaps Shiro is messing with him, but he doubts that very much.

but, there's more than that too.

versions of those three major timelines wherein he doesn't exist or one of his many friends don't. one, where his parents might've died before they could ever meet. one, where they didn't get to him in time when he emerged from the deeprealms into the desert. this, that and all of it is enough to make his head spin. the old man can't be faring better and shiro wonders, privately, if he's happy to know that he exists. or, or he doesn't believe him, which would also be a sensible response from a king.

a sensible response from a ryoma, he reasons.

he slumps forward, his heel bouncing slightly as he waits for the man to get his bearings only to hear a what instead of a " that's insane, actually " or a " you're joking. " maybe he'd even hear an illegitimate son argument or—something like that. the rest spells out the details: hoshido lost the war in his reality. everything else is negligible. "got it," comes a less than gentle reply as shiro sits back again.

he's never had to explain it, but he could try at least. "mine's? fine? there was a lot of—it's complicated, but everyone survived." he scratches his chin idly, but stops at the mention of being too young. like, he was. all of them were, but not in the way he expects this fallen king? ( prince? did he even make it to his coronation? ) to think. "no, i fought in it. do you guys have deeprealms? that's where you put me and the rest of us, so by the time we all found out what was happening ..."

huffing soundly, she follows after the too-smug shiro into the back of the tent, resigned to his temporary victory. but there, exasperation is quickly overridden by amazement——and more than a little bit of disbelief. was that a, tank of lobsters? why did he have something like that back here? and the plate of cheese just sitting out?

had he been expecting them?

no, that wasn't possible——even if he was a diviner, she'd just come up with ' crustaceans ' on the spot. she wasn't even really scared of them! he couldn't have foreseen that. but she's distracted from eyeing the guru for answers by shiro's cheerful call, and only then realizes that he's already heading for the tank. "huh? wait, aren't those for——?" . . . he didn't think she was really scared of them, did he?

. . . for all his aggravating points, recklessly trying to take one for the team would also be typical shiro.

( he hasn't thought of why the man just happened to have either of their so-professed fears just randomly in the tent, nor it seems will he. )

meanwhile, the guru waves to caeldori to give the cheese a try with a wordless gesture. what he doesn't tell, or what he doesn't say is that the lot have been riddled with any number of horrible tastes—both real and imagined, to confront its eater with the knowledge that there surely could not have been any worse surprises that they'd encounter in their day-to-day life. meanwhile, shiro examines the tank.

lobsters pinch and wave their whiskers in the air.

next, the guru turns to her, and now it's her turn to think about what she's supposedly afraid of. the answer is nothing of course, for his ears, because why would anyone go around spilling their deepest fears to a random stranger? she was skeptical right from the start——a wise man who claimed to have a solution to any phobia? everybody knew cure-alls like that didn't exist. either he was a bad scam, or worse, looking to do something downright nefarious with the knowledge. plenty of the elites from multiple nations were here, weren't they?

arms fold tightly over her chest, scrutinizing him and their surroundings, and some gentle-sounding reassurances that he was only hoping to help others fell on deaf ears as she eventually blurts out the first thing that comes to mind:

"crustaceans."

swiveling his head away from her in disbelief, then snapping back in her direction again as she says ' crustaceans, ' shiro guffaws.

his chin tips up, arms crossing over his chest as he is unbearably but silently insufferable. "see? bugs, just in the ocean." or lakes, depending on if she included crawfish in that order. it was the difference of people and mermaids.

not given a moment to think on it any longer, the guru insists that the two of them come into the back ( the back? of a tent? does he just have another tent? ) where he's pleasantly—and unpleasantly—greeted by a tank of the red devils and an endless spread of pungent and objectively flavorless dairy. it wasn't hard to figure out which was for who. that said, he might've been the little cheese of the great charcuterie board of hoshido, but he'd take his chances with the little pinchy creatures instead.

shiro starts walking towards the tank.

because in all situations, no one ever wants to look like a coward.

it's probably why that—for all their curiosity—no one but the two of them step forward into the lion's den that smells like musty fabric and anxiety ( not his, or even the guru's but someone else's ), egged on by polite, but audacious ribbing. ' what are you too scared, caeldori? it's probably something girly like bugs, right? ' as though she were some dainty maiden astride a show horse and not a sky knight with a kill count that terrifies on a day with a good tailwind. ' it's NOT. i've never been afraid of bugs. i'll have you know i was always the one quashing them back in the barracks when the other girls didn't want to, ' she cuts back and shiro looks too smug.

so, when the guru asks again what it is that shiro is afraid of, he doesn't know if he should show his hand. because he doesn't want to look silly in front of a friend. because he knows she's kind of a badass. because he knows what he's actually afraid of is silly, in his own head, and so what comes out instead of his stone cold, dead serious face is: "whatever's in the dining hall right now."

unseasoned meat, in other words.

Shiro, confident, brave, and loud Shiro is mumbling. Mitama stops gathering papers and watches him.

He's still holding that pillow. He's still in her room. But that smile on his face looks barely formed and there is something about him that screams of the same discomfort as when his tutors turn their attention on him.

(Lutz called her cranky. Shiro always caller her a nag. Was she really-)

"It was...I saw people, yes..." Many more faces than she had planned or imagined that she might see...and still not enough of them, in some way. The candle's light dances despite there being no wind. "I spent most of my day with Claude."

...she should let it go. She should carry on, as he is so clearly attempting to, and just. Pretend it is all fine. She should. But how is she meant to do that in all seriousness when his smile looks like that.

"What's wrong?" She asks instead, stupid and impatient and clumsy. "Did I...was it something I said? I told you that you could tell me if I said something too harsh."

worrying about mitama's birthday wasn't a mistake.

being the tiniest bit upset that she wasn't upset wasn't a mistake.

it was—his stomach twists uncomfortably and shiro can't help but worry that he's making some kind of unpleasant face or that it's showing that he's thinking again and he knows just how bad that is a look on him. it was something else. something altogether different. discomfort, and it feels a little like indigestion. mitama seems to know what it is. "no, s'nothing like that. it's just—" he picks at the little tassel on the edge of his pillow, nails plucking at the thread like strings to some song he doesn't know. "aaaaauuUuUggh!" it's too much to keep in his head!

shiro scrubs at his face, pillow dropping to the ground before he sighs. hands link together and rest at the back of his neck as he levels a look in mitama's direction, an awkward and uncertain look settling onto his face. what was this? he wasn't five!

( it was one thing to occasionally feel down on himself if it was something he did, but it was another to go ahead and be weird about it enough that mitama was worried. )

"i just feel kind of silly trying to make a big deal out of your birthday and missing it, but it doesn't even really bother you." head tips down, embarrassed. ashamed.

"Ah, that's not true. I've seen some lucky people catch impressive amounts of fish here - and some of impressive sizes." Not Ryoma, though. He hasn't had the chance to go fishing until now, which is why he jumped on the chance. The fish in the water here seem on the smaller size, and they haven't caught anything, but the day is still young. They could row further out, but he fears Shinonome might throw him overboard.

Ryoma tilts his head. "Tutors?" Naturally, he might not know every noble family in Hoshido, but he wasn't expecting Shinonome to be a noble. Well, that would explain the dislike: the war would have destabilised a lot of noble families. He wonders how he could ever atone. It isn't fair for Hinoka to atone for his mistakes, but he cannot go home. He can't. Perhaps some day.

"I do understand how you feel. When I was young, I also disliked my tutors. All I wanted was to play with my siblings, but inevitably I was always forced to sit back down." He smiles fondly at the memories of his tutors wrestling him back to his seat as he complains about boredom. "Though, as you can imagine, that was a long time ago."

His jaw tightens at the mention of Nohrians. "Yes. I've met Princess Camilla." She threw her token at him at the ball, as if he could forget. "I wonder why the Nohrian royal family are here. I would imagine they have much better things to do." Like the continuing subjugation of Hoshido.

his eyes wander somewhere beyond the lake.

dad usually told him that it was a necessary evil.

boring, but needed if he was going to come into his own.

not that he'd thought it was boring too, or that he just wanted to play with his siblings like most children would. that would've been an opening for shiro to dash out on any lesson plans. but, he's giving it to him here. freely, without reservation. then, the question of what the nohrian royals were doing here—don't you also have better things to be doing, dad?—with the final nail in the coffin about where he was from? his shoulders go rigid. shiro rests a palm on his own thigh. his opposite elbow couched on his other leg as he takes another real look at king ryoma.

he's tired.

"it's shiro, not shinonome," he corrects. gentler now, less irritated now as the understanding dawns on him. "you're not my dad, but i'm your son." he chews on his bottom lip. does that even explain it? can he even begin to explain it? shiro wouldn't have believed it himself if he hadn't seen the things he did before he'd left this country. this was all but confirmation of the possibility—the reality.

hail and well met— no. greetings from the class of— no. so i'm really overthinking this assignment and just want to get it over with—

no, no, and no. the breathing pile of blankets slumped against the desk laments:

"ugh, bernie can't figure out what to say..."

because nobody wants to talk to bernie, she reckons. bernadetta von varley is boring at best and a societal parasite at worst. among a slew of other things, bernadetta von varley is a waste of paper and ink. bernadetta...

she pauses. bernadetta. but where in the assignment did it say she had to be bernadetta? plain, useless bernadetta. high-strung, annoying bernadetta.

so a fortnight and a handful of exchanges later, she is here.

it is a late afternoon when the pad of parchment rests against bernadetta's raised thighs. behind her, a mulberry's trunk amidst hedges gives her both the immersion and quietude she needs for the task. sunlight filters through the leaves above, speckling her hand with warmth as it writes.

—emerged victorious, of course. My injuries were a measly price to pay in exchange for keeping the kingdom's peace. Alas, the royal court lectured me for days, and so··· ··· ···

how did she get here? bernadetta would rather eat dirt than be left alone with the thought for too long. for now, at least on paper, she's a prince of some unnamed kingdom. if she treats it like she's playing a character, writing becomes considerably easier. she's found an impressive partner, at that, with all sorts of grandiose merits. all the more reason not to let her character slip.

I'd like to hear more about your continent, too. Are the harvests bountiful? Have you ever yearned to return?

what else do princes talk about, anyway? taxes? exports? she drags a palm down her face before hastily scribbling off a closing.

Garreg Mach is lovely, but I must admit I miss my home.

(oh, yeah, that line's perfect. there's no way they'll be tracing this back to her.)

I look forward to hearing from you once more. Yours, - A

letters sloppily form beneath a quill that presses just a little too hard into the paper. some of them smear as he tries to form a reply to the stranger that isn't one.

every missive had been one that made shiro more aware of his own shortcomings. for a crown prince himself, he hardly had any crowning achievements to speak of. he was born. he went to war. didn't lead anything. then, to be set to inherit a kingdom he isn't really even sure is his. but, admitting that—even if he knows it to be true—is harder than he thought it was. so, shiro commits none of it to the page.

what he does say, instead ( while wishing he could sound even half as florid, but knowing that it just isn't in his personality ) is:

people say there isn't the land's pretty fertile, so food's never any problem! i haven't been away long, so i don't miss it quite yet. it's only been a few months and i get to do more here than i do there. my legs are still numb from all the sitting around. plus, my dad

he hesitates and ink blots on the page as he does. it wasn't really his dad. it was a version of his dad from a timeline that wasn't his. same guy, he thinks. but, sadder, more world-weary. it was hard to—he writes again. there's no reason to explain that.

is here too, so it's pretty much like i never left. one of my retainers came here before i did. all that's left is my mom, probably. i miss her sometimes. have you ever said how long you've been away?

“ Yeah. The place I come from's mostly mountains. ”  Bit by bit, her conclusion feels like it's gaining more and more credence to it.  “ Wow, you really know your land, huh? ” 

Before their conversation can really take full root though, he makes an odd noise, making her startle as she's still holding out her handkerchief.

“ Oh! Sure! ”  She takes the skewer from his hand and deftly makes the trade in the same motion, pushing the square of cloth into his two outstretched fingers. In the moment, that seemed like the right thing to do, but now that the skewer was right in front of her, closer than ever...!

“ Ooooh... ”

taking her handkerchief, he dabs at the corners of his mouth and wordlessly points at himself for her to agree or disagree if anything else was left. shiro nearly hands the fabric back, dirtied as it was, then carefully folds it as best he can with one hand and tucks it back into his pocket. "i'll wash it and get it back to you later." in no short part because he was sure he'd need to use it again if this really was all they were planning on doing today for this excursion.

good eats were all around! which, brings him back to the skewer—

"whew, i think i ate too much today," a half-truth, as shiro pats his stomach while taking another bite off of his own. he didn't want to get into the habit of lying. or getting good at it either. but! he had been trying for the better part of the day to get her to enjoy her day. maybe he should look a little dramatic about it. a little forlorn, the way that asugi did when he asked him to do literally anything a little outlandish. "i'd hate to let that go to waste though."

She had rejected the skewer once, but being his bodyguard today, it meant she was looking around them or at him, and everywhere she looked, there were so much food, it was all frankly... overwhelming! 

Ooooh, Lapis! Self control!

the other half was resources, and if he was supposed to help broker peace one day then that was something that needed to be dealt with sooner than later.

Corrin watches him, does her best not to look uncomfortable in the quiet that settles momentarily between them. Always this internal war between girl too young and sheltered to understand war and princess strong enough to win it.

And when his voice once more breaks the silence, she finds it is the girl who flinches and not the ruler.

Gentle, yes. She has heard that. Not from him, however, and it is strange to hear it now echoed in another's voice. It is not necessarily that being such has ever mattered to her, it is the implication that she is not and what truth lies beneath it.

everything's at odds and jumbled up in his head. it always kind of is when he thinks about her, about the great whole everything that only makes half-sense.

"i didn't say that," shiro corrects.

but, he didn't not say it either. "some things did. aunt sakura did." a pause, "your sister elise did." he thinks they'd be hard-pressed to find either of them could say anything otherwise about the two of them. he lightly taps the side of his wrist. he's never liked that part of his father either. never saying what he means. it's old-fashioned of him and that'd been the one thing that shiro told himself he'd never be. he sucks in a breath, straightens his back and meets her gaze. ruby to diamond.

clarity, sincerity and he tries to convey both to corrin without looking the part of the fool: "i don't know what you're thinking about." someone laughs. he thinks it could be a guard, or maybe he's just imagining it altogether.

Her focus immediately shifts to remaining upright as he rushes down the path. She begins to call a spell at hand but rather than finish it, she slowly allows the magic to ebb and return. She holds her hand out in front of her, casting a bit of light down on Shiro's path. It allows the pair to see the last hints of the rat before it darts away into the gap.

Their chase ended allows them (mostly Shiro) a moment to regroup. Though she whines a bit, Mitama shakes out her hand and lets the spell fade away before she carefully makes her way down from the throne of safety. Her steps are cautious, keeping an eye out for any sign of more of the rodents while Shiro...almost nearly gets stuck.

Instinct has her rolling her eyes. It is not the first time he has remarked such about his muscles. With a sigh, she turns to inspect the gap. "There does not seem to be a way around to the other side either..."

Silence. She looks to him. He looks at her, then back to the gap. Dread begins to form.

"You want me to stick my hand in a hole." She repeats. Not only that, but lie down on the ground to do so. It is simultaneously a mundane and incredibly sinister request. She really does not want to. She has also, unfortunately, already sealed her fate by acknowledging their lack of options. "If I almost die again doing this, I will haunt you." She promises him.

She takes off her uniform jacket and drops it onto the floor. She then rolls up her sleeve as much as she can before kneeling on the jacket. She sighs again, sends a quick prayer to...whichever deity might be listening...and then leans down further to reach her hand into the hole.

Her smaller arm does reach further than Shiro's does. The dread grows as her arm goes further and further, until eventually her shoulder hits the wall. At first she feels...nothing. No sign of their target and no way forward either. Mitama is about to inform Shiro of as much when there is a brush of fur and then sharp, biting teeth on her fingers.

"I WILL! JUST!"

he grasps at air, but the rat wriggles as efficiently as it bites down onto his retainer's fingers. "HOLD! STILL!" between mitama's minor flailing and the rodent's wriggling, shiro nearly grabs her wrist when he means to grab the creature but finally manages to get his hands on it with a firm squeeze around its middle. the shock forces it to, at least, let go of her. its long teeth snap at the air, but shiro's had one too many experiences fighting with other small and belligerent creatures—a toothy and dragon-y kana, for one—to let it get its way.

"you!" he shouts, voice louder than he means for it to come out. the rat squeaks, donning what looked like a tattered waistcoat.

( they made waistcoats in this size? )