#{leif.}

   gáe bolg’s curse does not escape the prince’s knowledge. when he had first overheard the castle staff discussing his parents’ deaths, it had naturally slipped into conversation. it must’ve been the curse that consigned them to their demises. to wield njörun’s lance is to accept a tragic fate. being a child, he hadn’t understood the weight of the words, but they had stuck with him — as if his memory wished for him to know more than anything else what being njörun’s chosen really meant.

but has that stopped him from desiring that lance? no. countless people have been wiped from this world due to leif’s existence already. he almost wonders if he has already been put under njörun’s curse anyway.

“ if valflame was cursed, wouldn’t you know? ” he asks. forseti asks for your will, gáe bolg asks for your happiness… though leif cannot say he knows all of jugdral’s holy weapons and their caveats, he imagines the branded would be told.

but saias must have a reason to be unsure, even if that does not stop the question from pouring out of leif.

“ right… the emperor has it right now. we’ll have to go through him first before you can get it. ” leif pauses to think for a few moments. though he wouldn’t have anticipated going up against arvis anytime soon, with seliph’s leadership, it seemed more tangible a dream. saias would not be accompanying them, but…

“ archbishop, if i get my hands on valflame, i’ll bring it to you. i’ll find a way. and i’ll find you too! ” thus is his pledge, conviction burning in his eyes.

    Silence falls over Saias for a moment or two, not out of offence over what was just said, but instead to give himself a second to see if the young prince realises the implications of what he has said. Perhaps it never occurred to Leif that his pledge falls hand-in-hand with the death of the archbishop’s father, or perhaps he thought such a concept would not disturb him all that much-- either way, he cannot fault the other for it. Saias has not given the boy any reason to think that he would care all that much, or that the two were particularly close in any sense of the word. For that reason alone, the tactician’s lips curl up to form the very bare bones of a smile, and even though it does not completely reach his eyes, the rest of the man’s expression is genuine.

         “...That would be appreciated,”

    The archbishop begins, his tone unchanging from what it had been a few moments ago.

         “I am indebted to you. If there is anything you require from me, you need only ask.”

    Though their time together has been short, Saias’ own promise is not something he speaks lightly-- rather, it is something he is willing to do on his own free will, rather than out of obligation or duty. Pale features soften a little further, and for a moment, the young man almost forgets that mere minutes ago, the two had been speaking on a topic that has long weighed on his mind so heavily, but stayed behind tightly shut lips.

Meme || Accepting!

Meme || {Accepting!}

          “At this point, Prince Leif, I’d wager that your guess is as good as mine,”

     From a strategic point of view, their constant call for reinforcements– despite seeing the opposition merely capturing the poor souls they send out and stripping them of their equipment–, is truly horrifying. No wonder so many places have fallen to the army he now fights for– if this is what they have been doing, it is no surprise that the Empire has lost so much land to a child prince and a handful of soldiers. Saias had assumed the third wave would be the last. How utterly wrong he was.

          “I cannot believe they have not realised that all they are accomplishing is providing this army with more equipment and their own troops a means to flee…”

     At least, he thinks, they have allowed a handful of innocent soldiers to defect from a job they might have been forced into– be it by a lord, or the need to support those dear to them. Despite acting as a tactician, Saias has never been the sort to find joy in taking lives, or being responsible for the deaths of those who may have had no other choice but to fight. Still, as his attention turns back to Leif, the archbishop’s expression further slips into one of dull disbelief and annoyance– not at him, but rather, the enemy’s lack of competence. 

Meme || {Accepting!}

Leif

          “I--”

     She hesitates, brown eyes shooting down to the weapon in question, her brow furrowing form a mix of emotions that Altena, herself, cannot begin to describe. Gloved hands tighten their grasp on its shaft.

          “...No, I can’t remember anything like that,”

     The princess remembers her mother’s embrace, being clutched close to her chest atop a horse, yet they are pictorial memories her mind recollects-- they are feelings. Emotions and vague sensations, but not a single image attaches itself to them-- a common fate for childhood memories that have been left untouched for years. Not even the face of her true father is known to Altena, and yet, when she looks upon Leif’s features, the princess cannot help but believe he must have looked something like him, be it physically or the way he looks at her.      But she is incapable of remembering him the way her brother hopes.

          “The gáe bolg... as much as I want to look upon it fondly, I cannot help but see it as a tool. Maybe it is the lance our father wielded, yet the blood it demands-- isn’t that the only value my fath--... Travant... saw in me?”

     To say that she expects Leif to understand would be nothing more than a lie, nor does the princess ask that he continue trying when it is clear they are both at a loss. A bond as close as the one between siblings cannot be forced, and while Altena feels some connection to the boy, it is nothing like what she shares with Arion. How could it be, when the two have only been in contact for such a short amount of time? When she is still figuring out her own problems? Pale lips purse themselves together for a brief moment, and her frown deepens.

          “You needn’t thank me, Lord Leif. If anything, it is you who I should be expressing my gratitude towards,”

          “Despite everything, despite standing on opposite sides of the battlefield… you found it in your heart to accept someone such as myself into your ranks. I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do– how to move forward–, but for a brief time… I felt as though I had a purpose,”

     He pauses, if only to stop himself from rambling too much– to catch himself before something too personal slips out. This is no time to spill his woes.

           “For the first time, I was living for myself– making decisions I believed were just, but working for something greater. And that was your doing. I haven’t the right words to thank you, Lord Leif.”

     With a slight ounce of hesitance, Saias bows, a single hand placing itself over his heart during the gesture, uncertain of how else to convey his thoughts without boring the young lord or letting his own words run dry.

          “…Though I wouldn’t be against staying, there is something I must attend to. When that is done, and if the war still persists, I shall try to join you– if you will have me, that is. I haven’t a home to return to, after all…”

     Undoubtedly, his brother must have branded him a traitor by now– there is no way Julius has not caught wind about the archbishop’s disappearance from the battlefield, or him aiding children on the Magi squad’s behalf, or fighting alongside the elusive Prince of Leonster. Returning to the castle would be akin to suicide– leaving for Velthomer one last time, to visit his father, without being detained is already going to be so very difficult.     Yet all of that does not need to be said.

          “Whatever path you take, I have faith that it will be a just and honourable one. I do not believe anyone would doubt me if I were to say that you are destined for greatness. So long as your heart is true, my guidance and knowledge shall be at your disposal– I swear it.”