#incursionparagon

With exams right around the corner and warm weather, it is difficult to stay focused. Maybe a little break wouldn’t be so bad? With the Great Tree Moon in session, trees’ leaves have turned a pastel pink. A little ways out of monastery grounds lies a large tree pink with leaves and… ribbons? A petite merchant with a sack twice her size informs you these ribbons are people’s wishes and hopes tied to the trees ribbons. She goes on and on about fate and destined love. She pushes a pink ribbon your way, insisting you give it a whirl. What’s the worst that could happen? [Grants Faith +1] // @incursionparagon

        There came manifestations of love in subjects of reprieve — and he was in no less dire straits now that he had crossed the seas than when his affections had been only tethered by distance. He was in every part promises and in no parts suitable for the task. And it became a principal engagement that his own marriage had never needed to become burdensome because it, in all manners, already was. Contempt was neither a subject between the two, but his repining was not because his wife was any less perfect, no — it was because Frederick, with powdered dust in his eyes, believed he would never be enough for her. For his Cordelia.

        Now that the war was over and it, along with all their worries, had severed any need for conjugal obligations, Frederick was left with open heart wounds and turmoil that did not suit a man of his disposition. In open torrents, he could only admit that he was so blaringly happy that she had accepted his love that he had neglected her — not as a man, a knight, nor even a husband, but as a person. To trust him in a promise meant to trust that he would not keep her to it once the conditions were no longer met. And surely, she would be so much happier if...

        Oh for the sake of Naga, herself—

        How could one even think amidst this spring finery and that wasteful amount of ribbon knit into the trees like that! Surely, this country could not have vexed him more! He could not even think of recompense when there were seas of ample scarlets and baby pinks stirring right above his crown. And in his stupor, (love sickness was a spirit that could bring any man of principle to his knees) he was just about to lecture this love guide about how unscrupulous this waste would become in a week's time, before his eyes rested upon the only woman that could undo every agony in his heart.

        "Cordelia." She stood there, a vision. A heartbreakingly beautiful commandment. "Cordelia..." He hurried over, no more a man than a rumble of thunder, now that she possessed his sense with her striking countenance and elegant deportment. Curtaining around her pearled cheeks was that red that would stand the test of time, as her locks had grown just slightly in their time apart. He had made certain to memorize every inch of her while he was away. "Oh, Cordelia."

        His heart was on his sleeve, and in all manners, he was prepared, still, to become undone.

Starter for @incursionparagon | [Flying +1]

If there was one thing that Salem had learned since his arrival at Garreg Mach monastery, it was that rumors traveled quickly - a symptom of close quarters and the freedom to talk for the sake of talking. It was easy to be in the know, even if one was detached from the center of it all, and Salem found himself knowledgeable about a great many things he hadn’t cared to know about in the first place. Who’s relationship ended with who. A professor’s penchant for bonus points. The number of cases of fish added to the pond that month. Nothing was too mundane for a conversation piece, and for the most part, Salem ignored it when he could.

So as he walked the winding, leaf-littered path through the mountains behind the monastery, he wondered idly what rare impulsiveness had spurred him to leap at one rumor. Supposedly great birds had come to roost nearby and the varied stories the students told to one another seemed to agree on one thing: they were of an elegance unseen in the wilds of Fodlan. In fact, they were not found in any of the library’s encyclopedias because - said the rumors - they were gods descended from another heaven. That was enough to convince Salem to gather up his notebook and ink, and trek out into the woods in search.

A cry rose up over the trees in the distance, and a second answered. Salem stopped to listen, though it made little difference to one who was as untrained in identifying birds as he was. He couldn’t tell if it was a native call in this forest, so he pressed onward in pursuit. The trail tapered off into wilds before long, forcing him to pick his way through scraggly underbrush and dense leaf litter as he climbed the gentle slope of the mountain. If so few people had walked this path that their feet could not clear a way before the forest reclaimed it, then he had to be on the right track. That was what he hoped, anyway, and it was perhaps that wishful thinking that caused his heart to leap at the sight of vibrant red flowing between the trees ahead. He ducked down quickly and weaved from tree to tree as he neared the striking beauty that had caught his eye.

It was not a bird. He caught himself with his hand against the trunk of one of the trees. It was a person, perhaps still a god, but—

          His mother was long buried and dearly departed from this world, and he had no need for another in her wake. In fact, the Cherche this world was just... 'Cherche,' to her dismay and his indifference. He had no need for a mother, so why had Cordelia taken up the mantle as though her life depended on it? Was she so taken by the idea of motherhood that she had begun to misconstrue their relationship?

        "Cordelia." Crisply, he dealt no hand of intimacy to her. If he was to respect her for anything, it would only be due to her prowess on the battle field. And seeing as to how she was unarmed, decked with an autumn basket with overflowing gingham, he knew of what she had in mind and would have nothing of it. She couldn't possibly have it go to waste, but seeing as to how the woman herself was an idol in Ylisse, Cordelia surely could find other companions to whet her interest.

        "Will do."

        His body signed off a letter of reprieve, trying to turn away from her before she invited him to sit down and do whatever it is she wanted to lift from a mother's daily pamphlet. It was only in this moment that he thought Severa must have had a difficult time, given that she was equally as detached and had an even sharper tongue than he.

        "I'll be going now." Cold shoulder. "Your reminder was... much appreciated." And then the turn, just like a diva.

        "Minerva!" Before he could finish his usual 'TO ME!', he stumbled upon a consideration he had thought to long bury beneath the rubble. But seeing as to how stubborn Cordelia was known for being, his hesitation might give her signs to bother him at a later time. Which wouldn't do. Minerva casted her broad wings, swooping down onto her feet and protectively wrapping around him. She gave a look of interest— surprise, even, that he hadn't just grabbed onto her and taken off.

        ".............................................................If I eat with you once. And I mean, once. You must honor me with a fight. All out."

        He may have considered his mother the scariest and strongest woman in the world, but he wished to compete with perfection just once. And outpace her, in all her unhindered glory.

continued from here ! 

✴ —— my princess. how long had she heard those words? how long had she in title actually been one? it made sense in days gone by with flowers for mother and early calloused palms for father’s training to briefly recall those days. but long had the crown of exalt and the ruler kneeling before her had devoured that girl so that what was needed, what the people cried for, took its place. 

she is silent in the wake of her respectful but affectionate warmth. her heart twinges at her thanks; and for once her stoic, unflappable grace of calm is hindered. she almost grits her teeth internally at how merciful cordelia is. 

the young exalt and time-traveler holds back words of apology, of failing to save her life, of failing to in her eyes, so many failures in the eyes of the one hardest upon one’s self! her best friend’s grief...unable to have time to properly be a friend instead of the ruler that was necessary. 

instead; for a brief moment those heterochromatic eyes flit to her with unfathomable hope and unfathomable grief. “... i would have prevented more if i could. please, lady cordelia, you owe me no thanks. my father’s companions and friends taught me both in the past and future the meaning of camaraderie. even if it fell to me, i was never truly alone with your daughter nor others at my side. if hope can be preserved, if a future made bright is in the past...or perhaps your future? then that is all i have ever sought nor wanted. i want nothing more. “

 she raises herself; once more composed and a twitch of a smile not of indecipherable things but of happiness. enough that even a rare giggle touches her lips; ruined fingers covered by gloves ghosting her mouth as she laughs. 

“ . . . i haven’t been called a princess in such a long time. i became an exalt at a young age and it remains most of my life. “ she muses wistfully, smiling at her father’s dear friend. “ in a way i am still adjusting to past titles. but in this moment i would be nothing more than a girl who would selfishly seek your company. it...you are more than my family’s guardian among many. you are my family’s friend, a confidante, and for that my thanks will always overflow. “ 

a brief hesitant ghosting of fingers against the woman’s arm. smile warm and bright for eyes far, far too old. she understands what the paragon knight is trying to say. her smile only brightens; eyes crinkling with appreciation that hides the bitter sweetness of her message.

[[ @incursionparagon ;D ]]

“Today, class, we are going on a special excursion, tee hee! Follow meee~!”

Finished spinning on his stool, Henry bounded to his feet and practically skipped toward the classroom’s exit. A little birdie had told him a certain old pal of his was hosting her class in the great outdoors today and Henry, having had enough of this cramped, stuffy room, had had the greatest bestest idea ever.

(Who’d have thunk he’d ever have become a teacher, of all things? But he’d always liked kiddos well enough, and hey, he’d gone to school himself, once upon a time. This whole teaching thingy? His own profs had made it look so easy. If need be, he could just take a page out of their books, probably. Literally, if need be.)

Humming as he led the way past Garreg Mach’s gates, heedless of his students’ curious whispers, the dark mage grinned thinking of the face Cordelia was bound to make when she realized he’d come to join her. She was gonna be so dang happy…!

"Here," she says. "Sparkling water with a bit of orange, though I can trade you mine if you'd prefer lime. I haven't taken a drink yet."

"Hm?" Priam turned to Cordelia and he took the offered glass with orange. "Oranges and limes are equally good, thank you. Bright and full of life! Though, I don't know much about this sparkling water. Frankly, if I found a forest spring that was bubbling, I would avoid it, but..."

That is the first thing Cordelia says when she sees Eldigan again following the disaster (her disaster) at the competition. Her posture is impeccable, as suits a knight and a knight's apology, frustration no longer anywhere to be found on her face; her own negative emotions have no such place in an apology, most especially one so entirely her fault. How foolish she had been to think she might make up for lost practice together by practicing alone; how foolish to attend a ball when she had never had the knack for socializing-- for making friends-- the way others do; how foolish to wear a suit in the colors of a man who had never loved her--

Ah. She unclenches her fist (when had she done that?), silently stretching tense fingers.

"You deserved more from me," she says, her tone still perfectly unweighted; a small small even curves the line of her lips. "I can but hope to make it up to you someday... and that it hasn't colored your opinion of me too dreadfully." A quiet huff, almost a laugh. Almost. "For your part, you were a wonderful partner. I very much enjoyed our time together... debacle aside, of course."

She really was taking the loss so hard. Her mistakes so personally.

The night was still so young when they were awarded defeat. The evening stretched out before them, so much that it was almost more inviting. They were free to spend the rest of their time in other ways. Flitting about the crowd and taking in the sights.

But even in her humility, she was the perfect image of a knight. Poised and even and gallant. There was a reason he asked her to be his partner, and it wasn't out of pity. Even if he knew of the loss, he'd ask her again. Yes, he'd ask her again. Right now.

He could placate each of her many apologies, but he found a much more concise way to do just that.

"A drink for your thoughts," she says, approaching Sigurd with hands full of drinks. "Or a coffee, at least. How are you enjoying the ball?"

having finished with a few dances, sigurd stood back and out of the way from the ballroom floor, lingering a bit away from the food table. he didn’t feel like eating anything but he certainly could use a drink or too. looking up from his spot, he immediately noticed the redhead approaching him with various drinks.