[Choose your company before you choose your drink.]
Bhon leabhar le T. D. MacDonald, "đđ˘đŚđđŞđ¤ đđłđ°đˇđŚđłđŁđ´ đ˘đŻđĽ đđłđ°đˇđŚđłđŁđŞđ˘đ đđ˘đşđŞđŻđ¨đ´"
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Albein returns on his next visit blood and battered, yet continues to hold himself up all the same, striding as proudly as he can manage with a limp and a dour expression. From all Zofian's present in the common area, his sights immediately land on the noblewoman they work for, and thus strides to her posthaste, shoving a sealed missive into her hands that is mostly pristine. "It's from your brother." He gruffs with raspy breath, then turns heel to leave.
âTruly? âŚthank you.â
Clairâs hand hovers over the letter for a moment, a frown on her face as she runs her thumb over the seal. Yes, it was unbroken, and that was certainly his - he even used the correct wax. None of the codes theyâd brought up in idle, fantastical conversation as children or anything such as that.
But, to her surprise, it didnât hold as much of her attention as she had thought it would. She carefully tucked it away in her pouch, pausing to consider her words before flinching when she realized heâd already left the common area.
Well, damn. So much for doing this with some composure. She chased after him, managing to catch up with the limping man with ease and putting a hand on his shoulder.
âWait. Are you hurt?â
If this truly is a test, then he surely must bear it, slowing to a stop as a hand falls upon his shoulder. A hand he has half a mind to shove off and keep walking, but itâs the voice that stops him in his tracks.Â
And then, he exhales, letting his left hand drop rather than using it to brush her off. âI am on my way to heal.â He tells her with as much composure as he can manage, jaw clenching after and breath slow and steady by sheer will alone. His leg is in pain, ribcage more so, and heâs lost track of the rest. Tired eyes flicker towards her, then to his path ahead.
â... If you wish to talk, do not delay me further.â He speaks up again only once heâs steadied his breath, pausing oddly after that to... regain it. It is only natural, of courseâ he cannot show weakness, not in a public space.. and they very much are in one, where anyone could see. âAsk what you wish on our way there.â
Gods, she may be a foreigner, but he hopes she gets the hint.
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There are many operas about war---beautiful, beautiful operas, with complex characters, and ballads that bounce and strike through the crowdâs hearts with each staccato pluck of the violinâs strings; the soprano ingenueâs vocal chords twinging, straining as red streamers âsplatterâ into gasps and shock and awe from the crowd.Â
But real war is not beautiful---real blood is not a prop, and certainly not so easy to sweep away, not made of elegant, smooth, tempered velvet that can be cleaned & purified from the dust of the stage, lint of well-worn costumes, and glittering stage make-up. (It sparkles. Real blood does not sparkle like some kind of fantasy jewel. Itâs ugly. Itâs grotesque.)
Real blood stains your hands. Dorothea can remember the first time she tasted blood---literally tasted it---the splatter of viscera from one of her spells so intense it sprayed her like a sea salt foam split with chunky clots she dared not name, metallic and warm in her mouth, like the taste as you check if a silver piece is counterfeit. She couldâve puked. But the battle was not yet won.
In this way, Dorothea performs her part. No longer the ingenue, the Princess in frills & jewels, lace from head to toe so thin the backrow could make out her shape beneath her skirts. Now Dorothea is a warlord---or something like it. A councilor, Edelgard calls her. An advisor. Perhaps even, if Edelgard was brave enough to actually talk to Dorothea about how she feels and the personal reason for why sheâs doing all this---a confidant. But that would be too generous for even Dorothea.
Despite everything and above all, Dorothea knows that Edelgard is more than her Emperor, more than the Princess she adores and cherishes with each blush & compliment. Sheâs her friend. And Dorothea, unfortunately, is nothing if not loyal.
Three and half glasses of wine deep in Edelgardâs private chambers, Dorothea cannot take it, the questions bubbling within her soul as her stomach dries and recoils, skips like her beating heart as she leans in close.
 âEdie...â Dorothea smiles, but it is not as genuine as the wince it turns into. âEdie. Why am I here? Really? Why do you want me? I--I donât know anything about war. I feel like---everyday, Iâm just---going along with this. Like Iâm here by total accident. Like if I hadnât come to the Academy, I wouldnât be part of your Army at all and----if Iâm being totally honest, Edie? I donât know... I donât know if Iâm qualified, or fit for this... I donât know what Iâm doing? And Iâm so---Iâm so proud of you, Edie, really---â The wine rushes to her head. She was never able to hold it. âBut.... Even though I believe in you, and I---I hate, hate crests and I hate nobles even more---I donât know... if what Iâm doing is right---even if what youâre doing is right? Does---does that make sense?â
Dorothea scowls at herself and tugs her face into the crook of her arm. âEdie, donât listen to me. Iâm drunk. And tired. And---Oh Edie. I donât know what Iâm doing.â
Bantu returned the hug and wrapped his arms around her. It was astounding to witness how much sheâd grown. She was notably taller than him. Her voice was deeper. The pride he felt at seeing her was akin to a parent watching their child grow up. He was happy to see her as an adult. That meant that, indeed, she did not succumb to degeneration as Naga had feared. She would live for many centuries, and would be without the risk of insanity.Â
It was the greatest reassurance that he could ask for.
For a moment, he keeps silent, staving off happy tears.Â
âIâm happy to see you, too, Tiki.â
âHow have you fared for all these years? Have you found more friends?â
âHow funny~ Here I am in my true form, and Iâm still shorter than you~â Yune let out a chuckle after that remark. âYou donât need to be afraid of me, Sanaki. Iâve seen the hard work youâve done for the people of this world. Carry your head high, and be proud of your achievements.â She then floated over and gave the other girl a gentle pat on the head.