#azelfire

"LEX?"

"LEX????"

Azelle wastes no time at all in yelling, uncaring at whoever witnesses them, as he runs and tackles Lex into a hug.

Oh shit. Lex knew that voice. He didn't even need to turn his head to see who was calling for him. He knew it in a heartbeat. There were, after all, likely only two people who would call for him that intensely (not counting Arvis when he was very mad at Lex, which sounded quite different), and those two people sounded very different from one another. It sure wasn't Tailtiu. Maybe Ayra could technically also fall into that camp, but the things that would make her raise her voice that much were all things Lex would prefer not to do.

Lex was strong. He was built quite sturdy, as all of the Dozel family was. Ordinarily, he'd be prepared for some twink slender mage throwing themself bodily at him. He just hadn't actually expected it to happen. Azelle managed to catch Lex off-guard, and that was the only reason he succeeded in bringing Lex down. Or maybe Lex had just decided to play along and let Azelle knock him over-- he wouldn't say. Regardless of the reason, he dutifully curled himself around Azelle instinctively to protect the mage from the fall. His back struck the ground, Azelle nestled safely in his arms, his chest providing a reasonable cushion for Azelle to fall onto.

It's sheer chance that Azelle has taken his dinner close to the other. He tries not to stare, he really does, but there's just something about him that bothers Azelle. Not in any malicious way, but Azelle worries he might be forgetting something, or he hurt the man's feelings without even knowing.

"Excuse me," he says, pinning on a lop-sided smile in an attempt to smooth over the question he's about to ask. "Do we know each other? You seem so familiar."

perfect tea-time ; accepting !

⊰ ♖ ⊱

                   The summer solstice was already nearly upon them, and there was still so much to do. Under normal circumstances Arvis was too bogged down juggling his workloads from both Velthomer and Belhalla to free up enough time to do much of anything else, but late into spring each and every year he simply had no choice but to pile his plate higher, to take on more, to double up and double down in the hopes of sparing himself some time later on into the month. It was all largely a waste of time in his opinion, but it always delighted Kurth and the King, at least.

                                              He had ... Party planning to do.

                   Other holidays ruled other parts of the continent, he was certain, but none came as close to captivating the public of Velthomer as Midsommar. The summer solstice was monumental, after all; the longest day of the year was meant to welcome in a season of fertility and light and abundance, and it marked a full week full of merriment and celebration within the duchy most associated with the sun. Valflame as a spell framed itself with the corona of the sun when cast --- much of Velthomer, right down to the familial crest ( the Fire Emblem --- what a fitting name ), took up plenty of imagery revolving around the corona and its light. The shape of the very necklace sitting heavy on his chest was meant to hark back to rays of light emanating outward from the sun, since as the current duke, as a carrier of major Fjalar blood and as Valflame’s current wielder he was symbolically made out to be some solar keeper. It wasn’t as though he could actually do a thing to the sun if he really wanted to beyond appearing to blot it out whenever he wanted to cast his holy tome’s magic down onto an enemy, but tradition never cared much for logic; Velthomer’s public spread plenty of talk about the festival each year, claiming that the lengthened sunshine would bolster the power of their fire magic, would grant them love and merriment and that Salamand himself would bestow upon them blessings of fecundity and a good harvest later into the summer if they all did their parts to please the gods.

                   Arvis thought it was one big waste of time that wouldn’t do much of anything either way, but that the public could certainly use whatever excuses they could force whenever it came to finding something to celebrate. He stood within the courtyard in the main town surrounding Castle Velthomer dressed in an ornamental robe that he had decided five minutes into the afternoon was far too stuffy for their desert climate, huffing and guiding a band of mages in setting up maypoles and planning out the space for the upcoming festivities. How that alone could stir up so much arguing and in fighting, he would never understand.

@solitaryblade (Sayl) made this for @azelfire (Aegis)!

no,

     When the archbishop heard of this little area that the Summoner wished to open, never did Saias think that out of all the possible heroes that could be chosen, he would be one of them. More than that, the fact that not only himself, but the male’s own uncle is amongst the handful of people chosen to have access is something that takes him by shock. Of course, he is overjoyed—of all people, Azelle is one who so effortlessly makes Saias feel as though he is allowed to abandon his facade for a few moments, and simply enjoy himself--, however, part of him cannot help but wonder is this happens to be deliberate; a little scheme set up to give the two some sort of time to talk without as many strangers around. Regardless of any potential intent behind this, the tactician cannot help but find long strides moving his form over to where his beloved uncle stands, not feeling as though he is obligated to speak with the other, but instead, wanting to take the opportunity to apologise—to express how much he regrets not seeking him out more often, despite how easy such a thing would be. Brows lift slightly, and as the first of many words escapes from pale lips, Saias finds his voice immediately taking to a soft tone of voice; gentle, and unassuming.

          “…I hope you are faring well,”

     He says, letting the tips of long fingers brush against his own robes as though the action, in itself, might ground him to reality that tiny bit more. A common face now or not, talking with Azelle still feels so very strange, carrying with it the same kind of stiffness and unease that would overtake the young man if Aida happened to be in the other’s place. This mage—Saias has always held him so close to his heart, a face he remembers when his mind yearns for a comforting memory. At the very least, he deserves to talk to his half-nephew, rather than feel shunned by yet another person in his life.