welcome present (?) for @divinecrest (it's okay. runes already taken the psychic damage. for everyone else warnings for: death obv. grief! badly dealt with grief! body horror based on the chest cavity/heart. the usual mix of consummate lying and religious fervor rhea is known for.)

The fire should anger her more, even if it does not surprise her.

It was only by the locking of his joints that Ephidel could walk no further. He had not ceased since he awoke in this place... beyond the Dragon's Gate? That is the only thing it could be. The fire, the explosion, then this. If the morph managed to survive and reach the other side, then surely Lord Nergal was here as well, or the very least the portal that brought him here.

When Ephidel came upon a shore in this land, he merely turned and set off in a new direction. That was before the plains grew barren, and powder drifted from the sky. Normally a sensation so familiar, but the damp and frost blended to bring the morph's weakened limbs grinding to a halt. After a while, consciousness faded, and only barely returned to Ephidel face down in a shallow stream. Voices could be heard above him. Mutterings of if he was alive, and his worth in gold either way. He felt himself being dragged away before the world faded back out.

By the fire's warmth, strength returned to Ephidel. When he could feel his digits once more, they curled around the essence of his captors. Their screams could barely ring out before they were claimed. The morph blankly blinked at the now vacant camp. He blinked skyward. He was in some sort of cave or tunnel...

***

That was some time ago now. Long enough for Ephidel to think more upon it. Long enough to wonder more about where Lord Nergal was. His master had already been weakened by Lord Elbert... and his flesh was not as resilient as a morph's frame... Ephidel may have been able to survive the blast, but his master could have not. He had seen the way his Lord had used quintessence to reform the dead... Ephidel... would learn to do the same. And if his Lord not dead, this body brimming with energy would make for a marvelous gift.

So his nights were spent peering from beneath a burlap cloak in the Wilting Rose. Scanning the crowds for wellsprings of life. There was hardly any to be found in Abyss... its inhabitants criminals and murderers... Until one-

Hers was a quality he had not ever experienced... strong enough to overflow, yet at the same time, befuddlingly hollow-

Golden irises watched unwavering from his darkened corner of the pub.

Sitri lays eyes upon her mother not too long after their separate arrivals, and though she is not surprised to see the Archbishop dressed in her usual garb she finds herself shaking her head all the same. Luckily for them both, the guests present seem to be quite close to one another and the head of the Church does not command the attention she usually would. Which is to say, Sitri can slip into the crowd and reach her mother without anyone taking particular notice, and she does just that. "Given your concerns about joining others for a meal," she says without preamble, leaning in close so nobody can overhear, "you should have thought to dress down. This is a party, not an official function. Really, Mother." She shakes her head again, though her lips curve upwards fondly. She begins to raise a hand, then drops it, instead pressing a quick kiss to Rhea's cheek. "I suppose it is too late to do anything about the robes," she goes on afterwards, now gripping her mother's elbow, "but we are still in time to take off the headdress. Do you realize how much attention this thing draws?" She begins to steer the other woman along without ceremony, for once forgetting to worry about how close they may seem. "Let us find somewhere private and I shall braid your hair half up. You will look perfectly lovely and much more approachable with just the lilies woven into it."

Sitri pauses to look at her mother askance, with a small sigh. "That, and you really ought to spare yourself from the weight of this headdress now and again, Mama. Or spare me, at the least. I worry about the strain it places on you, you know." Reaching to take one of Rhea's hands with her free one and squeeze it, she brightens as a thought comes over her. "I shall give you a massage while we are at it," she decides happily, releasing her mother's hand to wag a finger at her in jest, "and I am not taking complaints."

Rhea has long practiced how to be the person welcoming, so it is odd indeed to find herself instead welcomed; odd but not unpleasant. She is one of the few representing Fodlan at this banquet, but she does not feel so far away from the Jugdrali who fill the seats beside her for whenever she second guesses herself she sees the twinkle of Sir Sigurd’s eye or the smile across from her Seliph wears that so resembles his mother’s and finds herself comforted.

Still, when there is a pause in both the dining and conversation Rhea decides to make her way to the kitchens for it is not often she can tarry there and she is admittedly quite interested as to how some of these foreign dishes are made.

As she stands long waves of hair cascade in front of her as a familiar voice whispers in her ear, and she purses her lips in confusion despite the usual warmth she feels whenever Sitri is near (alive, speaking back finally).

“Do you think so?” She asks, walking arm and arm away from the table as if this was a planned chat; she trusts Sitri to lead them somewhere discreet as only someone as knowledgeable as she of Garreg Mach’s meandering paths can. “Removing it seems… wrong, not in the form of doctrine of course but, well, in practicality. Would not a sudden change in my appearance be just as startling, if not more so?”

She argues despite herself as she lets Sitri make her case. Rhea quite liked her robes, too, but she supposed she could have added a thing or too at least for the holiday. What colors were complimentary to the heraldry of Chalphy? She would have to find out; for if any were to recognize her outside her usual attire she thinks it would be Sir Sigurd.

"The weight seems not so bothersome today, but I see your point,” Rhea tells her, sitting as Sitri sighs over here. “You used to do this for me… before, I remember. And I would be loathe to refuse your expertise, but do let me return the favor at least.”

Sitri isn't a particularly mischievous child, but surely it's alright to play now and again, especially on a day like this. Lady Rhea is giving out candy to all the children who ask, after all. Of course, that's very kind of her, and it's not that Sitri is jealous. It's just that she doesn't think she should stand in line for candy with everyone else. She's special, her mother herself always says so.

So Sitri sneaks away from the other orphans and all the way to the Archbishop's office, with a brief stop by the kitchens. She crouches behind the desk, peering out now and again to see if her mother is coming (hopefully without the clergy in tow).

When the door opens and she sees the tip of Rhea's witch hat, she covers her mouth to keep from giggling. It's only once her mother is almost beside the desk that she leaps out from her hiding place, roaring like a fearsome wyvern with her hands fashioned into claws.

"RAAAWRRRRR!" The roar devolves into a fit of laughter as she rushes to throw her arms around her mother's waist, smushing her face into Rhea's legs and nuzzling her. "Well? Did I scare you, Mama? Did I?" She asks between giggles, pulling back just enough to look up at her mother. "I practiced a whole lot with Val," she adds, breathless with exertion and joy.

"Oh, and I got you muffins! They're still over there," she points towards the desk with one hand before going back to hugging her mother, "because I couldn't make claws holding them and all. Anyway, you deserve to get treats too, Mama." Despite this, she makes no move to let go of her mother and allow her to go near the desk. It's just too nice to hold onto her like this.

"Oh, but I'm not releasing you," Sitri adds in a sudden burst of inspiration, grinning as she tightens her hold. "That's part of the prank, you see. The witch will be trapped without treats until she defeats the dragon guarding them."

The way to "defeat" her is, of course, to simply pick her up and carry her. She doesn't say it so as not to ruin the game, but she does look up at Rhea expectantly. "I'm a baby dragon, though, so this should be easy for a powerful witch like you!"

The last equinox on the close of the Horsebow Moon has long held meaning for the people of Fodlan and Rhea has found it fascinating to watch the rituals and celebrations they invent for times of transition such as these, even without the church’s guiding hand.

"Festivals” particularly ones involving what can best be translated to their language as spirits seem to hail from Brigid, and have grown in popularity since Adrestria’s west coastal towns also started celebrating in a similar manner.

Rhea had been worried about this at first, particularly as the Empire had so recently seemed to shy away from the church, but looking out over the castle town now with children and adults alike dancing cheerily around a bonfire she feels confident she has made the right decision.

The Horsebow Moon is a time of bounty, and as all beautiful and good things come from the Goddess it had been simple enough to introduce her teachings to the holiday.

Rhea has in fact just come back from speaking on Her behalf, though in a different garb than usual; rather than the archbishop’s head piece she now wore what was apparently a “witch” hat, one that she claimed gave her the Goddess-appointed power on this day of all days to deliver candy to any child who might be deserving of some.

(Let it not be said that Seteth’s absence hadn’t led to some good. Garreg Mach’s younger populace, orphans of the church and children from the town alike had been delighted with her performance).

She had given the rest of the candy (and hats, logically) to the more willing nuns and started back to her chambers, wondering, as she did so about one child in particular; when she finds her door open a jar, and shut again in a very certain way she cannot help the smile that comes to her face, that she covers over at once with her usual mien.

“Oh my!” And it comes out loudly, but with a burst of true laughter; “you certainly startled me,” she says, honestly, and adds with a twinkle in her eye: “the Dagdan diginitaries told me to be wary of tricksters and shape shifters this time of year but I obviously did not heed them. Whatever am I to do with this one who has stolen into the church’s innermost chambers?”

She bends down to listen closely to her captors instructions; craning her head only for a moment to look at the basket of muffins she had first missed on her desk, and she is sure when she can give them a closer look they will be as perfect as Sitri is in this moment.

"I get both a trick and a treat then? My, being a witch is certainly a busy life," she laughs as Sitri pulls her closer. "And it will be even busier… once I capture the baby dragon in turn!"

Rhea sweeps Sitri up in her arms then and though the girl had made her intent clear as any of her most heartfelt emotions the expression on her face is the sweetest of things Rhea has, or will, experience today she is sure (muffins included).

Knowledgeable and resourceful. I'm glad to have someone to turn to in the event that I am injured to an extreme amount. I can also prepare for a possible conflict through the supplies that she offers, which is a boon in and of itself.

That said, it is strange, but I feel we sometimes share a similar expression. It is the kind that knows it must do all it can to remain safe. One that expects danger at every turn, despite the location appearing safe.

I'm not sure I'm right about this, but if this is the case, I must do what I can to provide protection where it is needed. Fighting is my strength, after all. I have endured conflict countless times.

Name: Lillian, though I get the feeling that this is an assumed alias. Perhaps for her own protection?

Age: 20? That can't possibly be right.

Gender: Female.

Class: Abyss, the dark underbelly of the academy. If I were not inclined to watch over His Majesty, then perhaps I myself would be residing amongst them.

Notes:

Sitri is seven years old and she's only now learned what a birthday is, which means she's gone seven whole years without celebrating her mother's birthday. It doesn't matter that Rhea didn't know birthdays are a special occasion either, nor that she doesn't seem to mind. Sitri has got to make up for all the years they've wasted. When she makes her way to Rhea's chambers it is with a silver tray in hand, atop which rest a bowl of sliced fruits and a glass of juice, along with toast in a basket and strawberry jam. Lastly, there's a package with a large ribbon. It weighs rather a lot for a little girl, but she's determined to see this through. Her mother's attendants have obligingly not roused her yet, and one of them opens the door for Sitri as well so she can enter with the tray. Afterwards she asks the lady to leave, and she does. This makes her giggle. Mama's attendants are much more tolerant of her being the Archbishop’s darling than those silly nuns. Oh, she's not thinking about that this morning, though. “Good morning, Mama!” She calls cheerfully, leaving the tray on a side table and gripping the package tightly before she bounds to Rhea's side. “And Happy Birthday! Oh, no no no, don't get up yet! You have to stay in bed or it won't be breakfast in bed! Oh, silly Mama, you almost ruined my gift! Alright, just a moment now…” Leaving the package behind, she hurries to fetch the tray and brings it over, though Rhea has to help her get it up there. Well, as long as her feet stay off the ground while she does, Sitri supposes it's fine. She wastes no time kicking off her shoes and taking her place beside her mother afterwards — though she is mindful of the tray —, tucked right against her. “I know you don't care much about your birthday,” she says, “but I do. I wish we'd had a party every year, but well… We didn't know, so — I just have to make your day super duper extra special!” She beams up at Rhea, offering her the package. Inside rests a dark blue scarf embroidered with misshapen stars, and a drawing of Rhea herself with Sitri. Above the drawing are written the words, “For Lady Rhea on the ocasion of her birtday with all my love, from Sitri”. “I'm not very good at knitting,” she prattles on, far too pleased with herself to stop, “and I just started emboi—embroidery, but I did my best. I wanted to write ‘For Mama’ but then I thought someone might see it…” For a brief moment she wilts, though perks right back up as a thought comes over her. “Oh, I cut all the fruit myself! Don't worry, there was always a grown-up watching. I helped make the jam and toast, oh and I made the juice all by myself too!” She giggles, shining with pride, before her head comes to rest against Rhea's forearm, gently and playfully nudging her. “Sooo, what do you think, Mama? I wanted to give you the best day I could, because — well, you're the best.” As giddy as she is, her next chuckle is soft. “I love you lots and lots. I love you like… Oh! I love you more than there are stars in the sky. Did you know that, Mama?”

Rhea sleeps rarely; the bed, like most things in her chambers more for appearances rather than anything substantial.

(The archbishops chambers have changed little since their inception in the Adrestrian style of decor, and Rhea sees little reason for them to do so now.)

But occasionally, she rests; knowing well enough her body needs if even if her mind still roils, it is then she looks up at the hanging ornamentation above her and imagines the galaxies its mandalas are said to invoke; it too, is written to be an artwork of the Empires long past but it is much older. It comes from the time of her Mother.

She tries not to look at it too often, for the memories pile up when she does but it had at least been useful for teaching Sitri the stars (and before that as a mobile).

Alessia, a long time attendant of hers, bids her a blessed morning and Rhea rises into a sitting position to do the same; opting to comb her own hair as she thinks on the day ahead. Saint Seiros Day requires the Archbishop for prayers and blessings and so the archbishop she must become, but something today makes her hesitate.

Sitri barreling into her room (That Alessia, she thinks, fond in a subdued way) takes away her puzzling thoughts and replaces them with warmth. It is rare to see Sitri so early in her day and at first she is worried but even before the child’s words sink in Rhea is comforted by her confident demeanor and dimpled, beaming smile.

She is carrying so much though! Rhea tries to rise to help her with her last package but is chastened by that small voice in tones she know to be remarkably similar to her own. She can only smile, be sued, as Sitri continues to prepare things for her at her bedside.

“Sitri, my love, I bid you good morning - but how long since you slipped out… ah, there is nothing for it thank you.” She says, meaning it, even as *birthday* echos on her head as if an unfamiliar word. She wonders how Sitri learned it? 

Even more mysterious was this breakfast-in-bed but as Sitri seems quite intent on the ritual Rhea can only do her part, making room for both the tray and Sitri herself once the child is ready to take her spot on the bed. 

Sitris explanation is full to bursting as are her emotions and Rhea does her best to accept each one in turn as gently as she accepts each gift. Her hand strokes the scarf still in its package as Sitri tells her about the dedication on it and for a moment as Sitri wilts her hand freezes.

For Mama, to think there is a part of the that wants that.

Again, there is little to dwell on but Rhea does bring Sitri into her arms, seating her up on her lap as they had often done when she was younger. “It's delicious,” she tells her, taking a bite of the dust and then offering some to Sitri, “will you not eat it with me? There is nothing I could desire more on my day of birth.”

They eat and they talk, and for a moment Rhea can indeed imagine a world where once a year waking up like this becomes routine. That this love, growing in Sitri, planted without Rheas knowledge but to her greatest awe, continues to bloom.

(And it does. And it will. Taking over so much, but nothing Rhea would not already give.)

“It has only begun and yet… it is indeed one of the best days I have ever had,” Rhea replies, hoping her smile is a fraction as beautiful as Sitri’s, “and no!” She grins wider. “Every star? Even more than that one, do you remember its name?”

Oh — Crap, the envoy exchange. They'd signed up on a whim, wanting something to keep their hands and mind busy for the season; They'd been so pleased with their own selection they'd almost forgotten they're getting something in return. What did they even write on their sign-up form again...?

Chad tries to give a smile in return out of courtesy — Whether it succeeds is a bit hard to say, but they do look a degree less intense. They give a bow of the head, receiving the small parcel carefully, holding it close to themself in case the contents are fragile. It's... Surprisingly heavy for its size. A frission of nervousness worms in, but they leave it for later.

"Season's blessings to you too, Miss Lilian. And thank you for helping organise all of this, truly." He gives her a firm nod, dipping into a bit of a bow after before letting her continue going about her duties.

It's only when they steal away out a window and unto a roof that they dare to examine their gift; They'd had their suspicions at the fact it was wood that met their fingers, smooth and well-cut, but the artisan's signature makes their eyes widen significantly; Slim fingers open the box almost gingerly, only to be met with a quality compass.

It's a damn fine compass. How did they get this kinda thing at a gift exchange?! The polish is so fine they're almost scared to touch it; They can't find any foreign fingerprints on the crystal, either, they realise with a snort, before leaning in closer to simply take in the artisanship.

It's a damn fucking fine compass. Possibly one of the nicest things they own now. Whoever got this has an eye for quality and gorgeous handwriting, and the bag to spend like this for a gift for someone they barely know. If it'd been someone he knows — Hell, if they let anyone know them, they'd've settled for their love of sweets, their hobbies or their embarrassing tendency towards flowers. Right? Surely.

Still, they think as they skim the note again, as they trace the constellations drawn onto the compass. They'd noticed the way stars here seem to shine the same as Elibe. This gift reminds them of that. This gift, despite its distance, has heart.