#avemaera

The gift Arvis bears this anniversary is immaterial to the last. He hopes it will mean just as much, but does not expect it. "I wanted to give you something. Some advice, but also," A steady hand is placed on Julius's shoulder, so he understands the depth of his father's sincerity. "an apology. For all the mistakes I have made, and all the more I surely will."

He smiles sadly, and tucks the tufts of crimson silk behind Julius's ear. "Always be true to yourself, and what it is you believe in most. I'm sorry for the times when I was not true to you." Gently, Arvis presses a single kiss to the Mark of Loptyr.

'To hate this part of myself, means to hate this part of you. I am sorry Julius.' "Happy birthday, my son."

Birthday (8/1) asks | not accepting

In cave-like darkness, he gasps awake. The nameless vagabond that’s come to occupy the cot pushed up against the far wall does not stir from his drunken stupor, and the constant thrum of the sleepless city beyond the door has, for the moment, found its repose. Hands fumble in the dark, blind and aimless, until fingers brush the sweat-damp chain around his neck and settle across the ring it holds. He peers through the shadows of the ceiling, placing imagined beams in the inky blackness to avoid the afterimage of a mournful smile.

“Father...” he murmurs to the night, and the man on the other cot heaves a sigh as he turns over. Slowly, Julius sits up, fingers still coiled tight around their treasure as if it too would disappear the second he let go. Surreality slides from him like the threadbare blanket that’s pooled at his waist and the underground’s chill rakes icy claws down his back. His shoulders tremble, then his breath hitches and he bows forward, one hand holding the Recover Ring tight against his chest, the other pressed across his eyes.

Dreams tortured him, but this one had offered him a life without Manfroy. Without the empire. Without Loptous. Only his father, young still and unbroken. A life that should have been.

This guy. Lewyn knows he isn't fully at fault for what happened to Jugdral, but isn't this a bit... Arrogant? What is Arvis' aim here? Is it merely to get under his skin?

Well, two can play at that game.

"A song, hm? Not like I can turn down a request at an event, can I?" He keeps his cool during his speech, producing his lyre to begin melodically strumming at.

"How 'bout a ballad then? This one's real special."

"O man, o mage of flaming red,

Thine eyes burn ever bright,

So what keeps thine face out of bed?

That scowl, so dark and grim?

Or perhaps it is wide-as-cow,

Or warped--like witch's boil?

For all the gods, please trim thine brow,

And floss betwixt thine teeth.

O man, o mage of flaming red,

Why are you ugly so?

To awful features I am dead,

Please look away in shame!"

Though it is very much so a derogatory ballad written on the spot to challenge Arvis, Lewyn sings and plays it with all the expertise he can muster. His eyes shut as he strums along, but open to reveal a piercing gaze that compliments his smirk--as if to tell the other that the ball is in his court.

@avemaera @tyrfingsheir

Deirdre's heart is a flutter as she descends the staircase to the ballroom. She has been dreaming of this event and all of its symbolism since she first heard rumors of it. Her dress is beautiful. The perfect blend of both her own and her beloved's tastes! And Lord Arvis...he looks so stunning she cannot keep her eyes off him. He even tied his hair with a purple ribbon! Not red, not black. Purple, her favorite!

"Have you heard the rumors about the Goddess Tower, my love?" She has not stopped smiling since they began dressing earlier in the day and her cheeks have begun to ache. "I know students are not permitted, but you will indulge me, won't you? It sounds so very romantic! We must make a vow together!" Of course, they have already sworn an even more important vow together but Deirdre would very much like to tell any god or goddess who might listen just how much she adores the man whose arm she currently holds.

"And I heard there will be some sort of magic that can capture a single moment in time like a painting but much quicker! May we try it? We could send one home to grandfather! How excited would he be to see how big I am getting!" She rubs a hand lovingly over the swell of her baby bump now most certainly visible before returning it to join her other in clinging to his arm. His jacket is a wool silk and, whether consciously or not, Deirdre continues to rub her fingertips softly against it.

"Oh but listen to me! I am so excited I cannot stop talking!" Her cheeks blush and they step off of the stairs and enter the ball proper.

H.E.A.R.T starter for @avemaera

Byleth waited by the lakeside with a set of oars by her feet. There was a small red boat bobbing at the end of the short dockside ready to take out on the lake. The professor was waiting for Arvis to arrive.

She'd been a bit surprised when he's asked out of the blue to help him with a project. Apparently he wished to recreate a scene often used in artwork of a person rowing across the waves. Whilst Byleth though there may be other more suited to the role than herself, she supposed the teal of her hair would work well with the colour of the water or something. It was Arvis' choice of muse so she didn't wish to question his decision.

Glancing up at the grey clouds on the horizon, Byleth grew a little concerned about the weather. The waters were calm for now but she wasn't certain how long this would remain the case.

A voice distracted her from her thoughts and looking round she saw Arvis approaching.

Arvis's voice is like ice as it enters her ear and slowly creeps down her spine sending shivers throughout. She knows he won't start anything, not here. He's far too much of a coward for that. But that doesn't mean she isn't afraid of him.

Oops.

"Oh, hello there. Arvis, husband of Deirdre, it's so nice to finally meet you. My name is Dew, I hope we can work together." Well, this wasn't ideal. Sure, he absolutely loooved talking shit about Arvis behind his back. But chatting to strangers in taverns was less likely to be overheard by the man himself.

Arvis was intimidating, but Dew had a lot of spite, and was prone to making bad decisions.

"I don't mean to irritate you, milord. I want this mission to go as smoothly as possible. I was just saying, it's best not to get on your bad side milord, otherwise you might burn us all to death." Or at least try too, Dew was tempted to bring up his bad track record of keeping the dead dead.

Saias makes his way into the classroom and takes his seat, setting his satchel out on the desk before him and taking out the necessary materials for the class. Part of the reason why he’d chosen the Officer’s Academy had been how vigorous and thorough the magic education had been presented to be, and that, coupled with its faraway location, had made this school the most attractive to the budding bishop-in-training. As a result, he finds himself excited to attend his first Reason class—here’s hoping it’s as good as he heard it was.

Not to mention he’ll have better resources for learning how to control his magic. While he would like to attempt the other branches of Reason while he’s here, it’s probably best to focus on Fire thanks to his heritage giving him a natural affinity for that particular element.

... One of these days Saias is going to figure out how to stop tempting fate, because when he finishes arranging his stuff and looks back up, who should appear at the front of the class but Arvis himself. In a professor’s uniform.

WHAT THE H—

The teen stares, paralyzed with shock, at the near-exact copy of Julius. The older man’s hair is wavier, and the Mark of Loptous is missing from his forehead, but there is no doubt in Saias’s mind that this is his birth father and the emperor of Grannvale. What in Bragi’s name is he doing here?! And if he’s here, who’s running the country in his absence? (Of course, he could’ve come here from a different point in time; he looks a little on the young side.)

For the rest of the class, the teen does his level best to avoid eye contact with the professor while making himself as nondescript and uninteresting as possible. He breathes a sigh of relief when the bell tolls and the class ends, and he stands with his fellow students to begin packing his things away. I wonder what the dining hall is serving for lunch. Hmm...

Then he makes the mistake of looking up. A jolt of panic shoots through him as the professor strides right towards him.