CANDLE IN THE WIND

For a moment, Yunaka sits in silence as she watches him. Then, like a kettle boiling over, she leans backwards and lets out a loud shout of frustration.

"You and every other damn Elyosian royal are so…" Stupid! Trusting! Forgiving! With the shout of her lungs, she slumps forward instead, adjusting to sit cross-legged in front of him so she can rest her elbows on her knees and burry her hands in her hair.

You don't have to hide yourself.

"I used to hate you." It doesn't help or do anything, but the words come out in a rush and she doesn't know how to stop them. "You and your brother and your father." Well, one of those never really went away. "A few idiots tried to hire us to deal with you guys. And it used to piss me off that we didn't."

All he'd done was his job. It wasn't his fault that life had put them on opposing sides. She can't be angry at him for doing what he felt was necessary to keep his brother safe. Even so, his apology only makes her frown. Be herself, he says…

"I…you don't even know who the real me is." Yunaka's never been a real person, just a performance of what she thought people would want to see. If she can't be Larimar and she doesn't need to be Yunaka then…

Because, really, it was greed. Setting terms with someone who'd held most of the cards until now. Wanting all the attention that a shallow vessel could hold. Demanding a pool from the likes of a known puddle - from someone like Rafal. And, from one greedy person to another, he found that he didn't dislike that greed.

"There won't be anything like that."

He moved closer to ruffle Alcryst's hair. Even if the resulting flop of dark hair cut across the other's eyes, Alcryst would have been able to hear it: the smile in his voice. "I found someone as interesting as you. What need do I have to call anyone else? Furthermore: whether you like it or not, you just became my favorite toy. I won't leave you alone, and I'll make damn sure you can't have enough of me. So don't even dream of escaping."

( from one greedy person to another, of course. )

Rafal turned away with his belongings in tow, everything—all clothes and airs—in proper place. He coolly pocketed one of his hands and stepped into the doorway of the bedroom. There, he paused and turned over his shoulder, high and mighty and cocksure before the moment of departure.

Alcryst never understood how anyone could fall for traps set by obviously suspicious people. Now, he wonders if self-delusion has anything to do with it. Alcryst senses the danger he's in, and at the same time he wants to make up excuses to ignore his instincts. There's something alluring about being wanted the way Rafal wants him. A small, stupid part of him can't bring himself to let that go because he hopes that it's real.

"Whatever," Alcryst says dismissively, not wanting to give Rafal more than he already has today. "Don't let the door hit you on your way out."

The younger prince of Brodia sits at the edge of the riverbank, sullen as he watches Diamant cast his fishing line. He's spit out enough cruel words and insults to make his Diamant cry, but this one just won't react the way he's supposed to. The difference is stark, and Alcryst is uneasy.

A curious duck floats closer to the fishing line. Impulsively, Alcryst picks up a rock and throws it at the bird. It squawks when it's hit, splashing furiously around the line and scaring away nearby fish before it awkwardly flies away. With a self-satisfied smile, Alcryst turns to the imposter, daring this man to challenge him.

It was... odd.

Though he looked the exact same as his younger brother, this man wearing the name of Alcryst couldn't have been any more different. It wasn't simply a matter of a bad day, or shift in mood—he was cruel and vindictive in a way Diamant wasn't at all used to seeing from his polite, mild mannered, and extremely humble brother.

Diamant had wanted to fish, though Alcryst surprisingly had little interest in it, instead opting to sit around, glare, and apparently do everything he could to disrupt Diamant's progress.

He closes his eyes, takes a breath. This time, it doesn't work.

"What is wrong with you?"

Alcryst pushes himself onto his feet and dusts the dirt off his clothes. He takes stock of his surroundings once more, observing a winter forest teeming with life, a river so clean that fish can thrive in it. It's wrong, it's all wrong. This place is too beautiful to be hell, and Alcryst doubted that he'd be accepted among the stars.

His jaw clenches, glaring at Diamant. "...Lapis is dead. If you were really Diamant, you'd know that already. And you'd know to keep her name out of your mouth, because she was better than you and I won't have swine like you desecrating her memory." His voice lowers, deathly quiet. "...You're a bastard for trying to use Lapis against me. I ought to kill you for your insolence."

"You—"

Intelligence and confusion warred at the sensation of not one, not two, but several little presses of those slimy lips upon his own cheek. Offering a wordless form of communication, a presumed answer to the uncertainties which Rafal voiced aloud, piece by piece formed the picture, scruple by scruple perfected the wary understanding; that which he did not in any thousands of years wish to believe.

"Oh, no! Do not be ridiculous. There is no magic in any world that can be dispelled by something as frivolous as a kiss. More importantly, what mage in their right mind would decide that to be the remedy?" A cruel mage, no doubt. As cruel and torturing as Rafal had so recently been whilst poking the frog.

. . .No, he thought, gazing at that frog's face. Perhaps even crueler.

At the behest of its appearance, he was cursed to indulge a far-fetched timeline. For the fraction of a second, he imagined the tearful applause and wedding bells that would magically manifest at the meet of two lips as if out of nowhere; the loving ceremony and future that would succeed them. Frog and dragon, defined by kiss, then love, then family. The strange, hybrid sort - a mix of saurian scale and smooth froggy flesh, with wide-set eyes and a long tongue, an equal distribution of genes or perhaps one unfair. A fierce contest between pale hair and some ilk nebulously darker. Greener? And, then—

"Oi! Somethin' I can do for ya?"

He looks up to the new voice, met with the sight of a man jogging towards him from the opposite end of the alleyway. "Looks like yer lost, fella." The man, dressed in work pants and a dirty white shirt, chuckles, nodding to Diamant's own clothes. "And I dunno, you seem a bit too fancy to be wanderin' around these parts."

The Brodian pauses, gauging the man before him. His clothes looked like that of a worker, but didn't match what was worn in the restaurant. The town didn't have a dock, so he couldn't be from there... maybe he was delivering cargo, but...

"I'm fine." Diamant answers simply, "Thank you for your concern, but if you'll excuse me..."

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa," The man suddenly grips Diamant's shoulder when he tries to walk past, and though he knows he could easily shake out of it, he stops more from confusion than anything. "C'mon now, none of that tough guy act. You really do look upset about somethin'. Or drunk off your ass, maybe. There anything wrong with accepting some help?

Diamant's brow furrows. "What? No, I—" It's at this point that he does try to shrug out of the man's hold, only to be alarmed by the strength of his grip. Fingers dig almost desperately into Diamant's shoulder, and his eyes narrow. "Is there something wrong with you? Why..."

His gaze lands on the man's fingers: namely, the faintly wiped smudges of red streaked across them.

Blood.

"...You alright there?" His voice grows cold. "You've got blood on you."

The man's eyes widen, but he quickly wipes the surprise away with a laugh. "Oh, that? Just cut my hand on a crate—"

"But there are no cuts on your hand."

"...Well..."

Diamant spins out of the man's grip, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting his arm behind his back. Roughly, he's pressed against the cold wall of the restaurant, and the Brodian leans close to his ear.

"Young man. Dark hair. You wouldn't happen to have seen him?"

"H-Hey, man...! I don't know what you're on, but—"

"Where," Diamant growls, twisting his arm tighter, "is he? Where is my brother?"

"Th-That way!" The man frantically points the way he came, towards the woods. "Big beast of a man! He's the one you want! Nearly crushed that kid's skull in, he did!"

The professor has what he wants. Now the man tries to pry those bear claws off of his arms. He looks up at Diamant with eyes wild with fear, pleading, "Please, milord, that's all I know! I didn't do nothin'! Let me go!!"

----

Because Ninian did not assure her she has talent merely for the sake of it, or as some paltry (and needless) comfort. No, being a dancer, she would never lie about such a thing. Silque may be unrefined due to lack of practice, yet she is a natural performer still... and all the more impressive for it.

One must hone one’s technique, if not to perfection then near enough to that; learn each and every step by heart, searing the choreography into one’s mind well enough to dance it backwards or from the middle; to then, and only then, perform while one dances. Surrendering oneself seems to be no effort at all — but the effortlessness is performance, too.

Silque, though, Silque begins from the end without even realizing she’s doing it. For a beginner to receive perfect scores twice is a feat already, let alone perfect scores for style, that most challenging of aspects to many a dancer. Ninian does not think she could properly express her admiration for the cleric if she tried.

Not in words, anyway. Yet much of style is in fact emotion, and so she returns to the first round’s ballad in spirit with the waltz from Ylisse. It may be fast-paced, but the cleric has shown she can keep up and the steps are easy... ... Ah.

Perhaps Silque’s confidence has suffered a blow after all, even if she herself does not realize it. The fault for that is Ninian’s and only Ninian’s, never mind that this dear girl has said otherwise. Even if the fault were Silque’s, it would not matter when she has only ever looked on a beast with kindness.

And so the dancer grips her hands more tightly still, pulls her in closer and makes it so her missteps are incorporated into the dance even in defiance of choreography, for knowing it means she can mold it.

She earns another perfect score for style, having surrendered herself to much more than the dance without trying; her second nine for technique, for if they are going to be harsh on her partner then she is going to leave no room for criticism; and eight for choreography, because she’s pinned her hopes on the right piece at last.

Not that she would have minded if they’d given her waltz a three, seeing as —

“ I do not care what scores they give you, ” she whispers, something unyielding as ice in her voice for the first time. “ No matter what, you were radiant to me, Silque. ”

So pondered the cleric as they stand behind the curtain, waiting for their cue. She shifts from foot to foot for last-minute practice, replaying Ninian's instructions over and over in her head. The words of a teacher, a partner, a friend; and so were those of Sister Greta, all those years ago in the priory, when she had rapped a ruler disapprovingly against Silque's knuckles and said:

You cannot heal from the heart. Temper the cast with form, and then infuse form with Mila's blessing.

So for this dance, when the lilting notes of the waltz begins, Silque pays attention, notices: the velvet of Ninian's golden shawl catches the overhead lights. The extension of their joined hands echoes the sweeping waterfall of Ninian's hair. The turns with the two of them pressed together masks Silque's characteristic stumbles; the alternating twirls sets Ninian's brocade gown and her own cotton skirt in contrast.

Yet all this seeing is still no trouble at all, because to notice Ninian is still to know that she is beautiful. You are radiant to me, too, the cleric doesn't get to reply, steady and sure, before her scores are revealed:

One in technique... okay, there's really no fixing that, Eight in choreography — but she'd finally gotten the steps right, this time! And a meager four in style, the announcer's voice sounding almost disappointed — still, the cleric merely nods, eyes brightening.

"It's a tradeoff…!" she whispers as they exit the stage, finally understanding. "I must lose myself in the dance, yes? But my movements must not be lost. That's… that's so difficult!" She wraps an arm around Ninian's elbow, leaning in with a laugh. "Is that what you've been trying to do all this time?"

Invigorating and special just like Seadall's— truly remarkable and as such daunting to be facing off against. It's no surprise that her and her chosen companion then have made it this many rounds in. If anything, Lapis is happy and proud to know she's found a way to be recognized like this.

What Lapis is less happy and proud to discover is that she recognizes the song playing. It's the exact same one that she'd been thrust into unexpectedly earlier tonight.

The fiery and almost excited expression Lapis had adopted, inspired to give things her all after seeing the commendable rival Flayn had been in attitude last round, completely dissipates. Lapis rushes to starting position with Alcryst, roughly pulling their bodies intimately close— closer than they've done in any round prior.

“Er, don't mind me...! Ahaha...”

(Gosh, does she even remember any of the moves in the Ylissean waltz?!?? When she wasn't too busy just being EMBARRASSED during it?!?!)

Before she knows it, she has to will them to move though in time with the music, whether or not she's ready. But the thought that she looks like she's practically coming onto Alcryst in PUBLIC, ready to pounce on him and feel him up in front of EVERYONE (at least with that stranger before, she was hidden in a CROWD!) makes her steps more unsteady than she wants. With each passing second, her face only blooms a deeper flush, fetching enough to make some judges watching bashful from the heated look she unknowingly keeps focused solely on her partner.

A six for style, conjuring up a mood of a heart-thumping love at odds with the scandalous edge to the dance. A three for choreography, hard to recognize as what it's meant to be at times, made worse when their opponents perform it practically flawlessly on the other end of the floor. A five for technique, nothing particularly noteworthy about how she executes what moves are performed...

“There's a part, um, where you're supposed to lift me coming up soon,” Lapis warns.

Lapis, on the other hand, manages to do that all on her own. That confidence melts as soon as the song starts playing, confusing Alcryst. This is the Ylissean waltz, isn’t it? He doesn’t know all the steps, but he never heard of it being particularly hard. Ninian steals the show almost immediately, dancing with near-flawless precision and style that immediately impresses Lapis. Her partner also puts up a solid performance. This pair is their stiffest competition yet. Alcryst and Lapis will have to dance their hearts out if they hope to compete against that masterful dancer.

Are you okay? Alcryst expresses his concern with a silent look to Lapis. He doesn’t see anything wrong with the dance—in fact, he enjoys getting to be so close to his partner. Her unsteady steps are made up by Alcryst’s commitment to performing the intended move. They move as one, but not in the same way they did in the previous rounds.

The lift Lapis warned of finally arrives, and with a soft grunt Alcryst lifts her into the air. Though… not quite how he’s supposed to do so. Lapis’ dress is short, and so Alcryst tries to lift her in a way that doesn’t result in exposing her. It’s what a good partner would do, he thinks.

Even if the judges don’t particularly agree. 9 in style shocks Alcryst, and he doesn’t hesitate to credit Lapis for that in his mind. A 7 in technique also surprises him. Alas, the 3 in choreography is no surprise.

As the judges tally up the totals, Alcryst does so as well. With mental math he averages his and Lapis’ scores, then their opponents’…

Ah. Alcryst squeezes Lapis’ hand and kisses the crown of her head. They lost. It’s a disappointing outcome, but Alcryst finds that he’s not too saddened by it. That they got this far is impressive enough, he thinks, considering the tough competition they faced. And he had fun! Who thought Alcryst of all people would have fun at a dance contest?

“Uhh...! Best of luck to you too! You've got this!” Lapis calls out to Flayn, wanting to at least encourage her, but it means she's once again a bit off-tempo at the start of the new round, hurrying to stumble her way into (trying to) successfully follow her partner's lead.

But at least this time, even if her mistakes are more obvious, her spirits are higher, riding the high from their win last round. Alcryst and her had figured something out in the end before, and it's that trust that makes her radiant with seemingly misplaced confidence now.

“She looks like an awkward duckling...” comes the commentary from the judging panel, their eyes scrutinizing the competitors even more intensely than the first round. Perhaps it's true; she's no swan, has never thought herself fit to be so, surrounded by so many fine birds...

But she somehow takes her love's reminder to heart, smiling back, and making a tender scene nonetheless. It is in her awkwardness that another judge finds her joy heartwarming, leaning against and beaming at her love even when she inevitably trips again and can't quite hide it this time.

“I always think this, but you're really dashing tonight,” Lapis whispers to her partner. “Thanks for catching me there. Phew.”

She takes her position, lifts her arms, and begins to spin.

The choreography is quite different from her last piece—better suited for a solo dancer than a pair—but it is nevertheless still a challenge to execute. The judges note her wobbly knees, her stiff shoulders, and the weak steps. At some point, her heels catch on a groove in the stage, causing her to stumble. The crowd gasps, but Flayn rises to continue.

Many would call it disastrous, and indeed, were it not for the fierceness of her expression and the aesthetics of her movement, she likely would have been eliminated. She is safe... for now.

A gasp from the crowd distracts Alcryst, and he sees the girl trying to regain her bearings. Did she fall? The scorecards give some insight. The lowest possible score for technique, but that hardly negates her near-perfect scores in the other categories. Alcryst was right, she is a masterful dancer!! She doesn't need a partner at al!!!

That one blunder is the only reason why the judges decide to continue the round. Score-wise, they're neck and neck. Alcryst tries not to think about that as he brings his attention back to Lapis. Seeing her smile beautifully for him eases his worries. He even finds himself smiling in return. It'll be fine.

Alcryst leads once more, and though he simplifies the choreography for Lapis' sake, he makes sure to emphasize their technique and coordination. He extends his arm, allowing Lapis' skirts and ribbons to flutter. As he pulls her back into his arms, he whispers in her ear, "I'm going to dip you, okay? Have an arm around my shoulder." Alcryst places his own hands on Lapis' shoulder and back to prepare.

The song is reaching its end. Alcryst supports Lapis' weight as he slowly, gently, leads her into a small dip. "I won't let you fall," he promises.

No, Alcryst can't get distracted. The second round is starting. Judges call for them to get to their starting positions. One of Alcryst's hands rests on Lapis' waist. The other holds her hand. It's no different than last time. All Alcryst needs to do is focus on his partner, and dance.

"Remember to have fun, okay?" Alcryst smiles as he takes the lead once more into the second dance of the competition.

Maybe they saw them as intimidating, but she wanted to lighten the mood a bit. So she turns to the couple and flashes a smile! Bright , full of hope, before she focused on her steps. Each movement was done perfectly, properly, but with her own flairs and twists. Sudden small jumps, a wink to the judges, easy things to keep everyone on their toes.

Expect... She almost forgot she had a dance partner! She slows down "sorry, again. Haha!"

"I don't," he answers simply as he catches his breath and loosens up his hands. They must've heard of the Ashen Demon if anything. Byleth can't help the slight frown at that idea. Was that why they were intimidated?

The smile his partner flashes over is beaming, bright. He can't really muster the same so he gives a gentle nod instead.

Now, the heat started anew. The rhythm this time seems far more her style. His lead is a bit weaker but so long as they were making good enough steps, it was fine. Keeping up, providing a good back drop, allowing her to shine. It's best this way.

When it all comes to a close again he shakes his head. "No, I've been enjoying it." Dancing like this isn't so bad.

Alcryst loves that intense expression on Lapis' face. It flickers only for a moment when she apologizes for her dancing. "You're doing great," he whispers, and he means it. Lapis talks about her dancing like she has two left feet, but it's clear to Alcryst that she's much better than she claims. Has she been practicing? If she has, then Alcryst wants to match her dedication.

"Stay with me." Alcryst shifts his focus to how he is dancing, taking greater care to move the way he is supposed to. He loves the chaotic freestyle way of dancing that Pandreo introduced to him, but he still has formal dance training to lean on. Where Lapis missteps, Alcryst is quick to move in a way that makes it look intentional. They've fought alongside each other on the battlefield long enough that he can anticipate her movements.

But maybe she... shouldn't have been to proud of herself just yet- Maybe she forgot to stretch or something because she was out of her game. Despite that, she did try to smile through it, even laughing! She didn't dare look at the judges, they might ruin her mood.

"Sorry," She finally spoke , loud enough for only her dance partner to hear.

"Lapis..." They haven't even started and he's already feeling queasy. "That's Emblem Byleth..." The one Emblem known to be a dance master!!! That must make that girl he's with a dance master too! To think they'd face such strong opposition in the first round... Will they make it?

"It'll be fine," Alcryst says, as if to reassure Lapis (though it's him that needs the reassurance). He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and squeezes Lapis' hand. It's just you and me, Alcryst tells himself. He turns away from the other couple's dancing to focus on his partner. Just you and me and no one else.

Alcryst takes the lead. The nerves are beginning to get the better of him, and he's all too aware of every little misstep that he makes, but he does his best not to dwell on it. He tries to forget the competition. He tries to ignore their talented opponents. Instead, he looks at Lapis as though she is the only other person here, dancing alone in this grand ballroom. Step by step, his confidence starts to return.

Whatever. She just needs to sit and keep being fine and then Alcryst will tell them when they're ready to go and they'll wrap this up all nice and tidy, right.

Right?

When Alcryst speaks, she turns her head just enough to look at him from the corner of her eyes. At first, her expression doesn't change much. She stares at him blankly as she tries to make sense of his…assurances? Consoling? Her expression eventually breaks into a confused frown.

"You told me I had to."

He'd made that very clear when he'd held his life in her hands. She can't live anymore. Who Yunaka was was unacceptable, they only wanted the Yunaka they knew. The one that didn't really exist.

...Wait, actually. "Is this because I said Larimar had to die?" He did say that, and no matter what people think he still believes it had to be done. Larimar is dead on paper. But Yunaka is not Larimar, and so she is allowed to go free. Larimar must die, but you don't have to. Alcryst thought he made that clear...!

Seadall stumbles a bit. Not the usual, since he doesn’t need any kind of foresight to keep from tripping over any of the numerous debris. It’s a mental stumble. An unconscious double-take in which Seadall travels back through time to remember what Pandreo’s version of dance looked like. 

…it hadn’t been for Seadall. Not then. Now? 

He can’t be sure, other than craving the memory of pure joy. It made sense that Alcryst would be taken in by such a thing. Seadall can almost imagine it. “I didn’t know the two of you were close,” He says, studying Alcryst as they clear the winding stairwell. “Though if we were given the chance, I’d love to attend such a dance with the two of you.” He hadn’t always agreed with the haphazard, off-beat movements. Seadall is grateful enough to have grown in that regard, where his friend had taught him to look at certain things through the eyes of a friend. 

“It’d be nice to see that side of you, were you willing to share it with me.” 

The lobby looked…different. Seadall blinked, remembering more daylight and less darkness. It’s not the only thing amiss, the flooring here looking oddly newer than the rest had. “Not everyone needs to compete, as long as you enjoy yourself, hm?” Was it the air that was feeling thinner? A persistent hum in the back of his head told him to feel alarmed, so he was reaching out for Alcryst in a graceless kind of way.

He does not elaborate on that as he looks toward the extra hunting bow. "I feel more confident when throwing a lance, but you're right. Better to take aim with what I know will take down my foe. And it would do no good to waste my opportunity to learn from someone more skilled than myself. I will keep my lance though, just in case." One might get close enough that a bow will be useless to him.

It is not as if he has no skill with a bow either. He had been dragged into archery competitions as a child and though he had not often won them, he still performed well enough. Not well enough by his own standards, but he's sure he can wield the bow Alcryst speaks of.

"The lance will be better once it's grounded," Alcryst adds. "But to ground it, the bow is better." He hands off the extra bow to Ephraim, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It's true that the bow's power will be better at piercing the hide than a thrown lance, but... ough... as if Alcryst of all people has any right contradicting THE Ephraim.

The thing is… would Lapis tell him? A nagging thought tells Alcryst she's more likely to keep it to herself if it meant keeping him happy—or worse, just to keep up appearances. It wouldn't be the first time. She is no stranger to hiding things or omitting truths about herself from others, even from Alcryst.

It's not a dealbreaker. They both have their own flaws and struggles, and in his eyes their current relationship is still a happy and healthy one. But Alcryst can't help but feel responsible for making sure she never finds cause to hide her feelings or choose his happiness at her own expense.

For all that he laments, Alcryst isn't so bad at being supportive himself.

"Are you really worried about that?" He asks, letting himself seem incredulous at the thought. Because he kind of is, even if he kind of isn't. Prince Alcryst is exactly the sort of person who would worry about this, even if he is exactly the sort of person who shouldn't have to. "Honestly, Alcryst, I've met plenty of tough customers. You are not among them. A lot of people in your shoes are not nearly as kind or humble as you are, you know. Or inclined to see the good in other people."

Hearing about the life he's lived, Fogado's not certain he wouldn't have snapped under similar circumstances. Every trait and every action under scrutiny? The idea makes his skin crawl whenever he thinks about it. He's not sure what sort of person he'd be if he'd grown up a prince of Brodia, but he doubts it'd be pretty.

"Thank you, Fogado..." He can't say his fears are completely dismissed, but he feels lighter knowing that someone else hears and understands them. "That's enough about me, I think. I'm sure you have lots of stories from Elyos to share!" Alcryst refills his and Fogado's teacups, much more eager now that he's not at the center of attention. "What's been going on with you, my friend? And don't leave anything out!"