#inserviceto

He feels unclean in the man's presence despite knowing almost nothing about him.

"I do not...know what you recall, though I am quite sure we did not meet while in the mirror. I know that some of us were more affected by that world than others...," he trails off, a little unsure of where he wants to or should go with this. He didn't know the details. Didn't know what Azama had been through. Certainly didn't have the right to speak on it.

"I confess, I do not know if I could be of any help, or if you desire any at all, but...illusion or not, it was a trying time. I do not...wish you to feel as if you are alone in the aftermath of it all. We are still your allies in this."

Azama's quiet hum died upon Harken's approach, a clear sign that hackles had been raised.

They didn't want him to feel as though he was alone?

Oh dear.

"... You shouldn't speak on others' behalf."

He turned to face Harken. Ah, yes -- he did recognize this fellow, if only somewhat. Had he been Argent, or was he with Haven? He'd not been on the final battlefield... Where, then had he been?

Didn't matter, one supposed.

Brows lifted, lips upturning in... amusement? Cynicism? Mocking?

"You must not have been among those more affected," Azama muses. "The others, those who stuck with Haven... I have to expect they like me about as much as I like them. Which is not at all, by the way."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Azama sighed.

"But I know that's not... rational... It shouldn't be this world's reality, should it?" Purely rhetorical. Azama would come to terms with it on his own time. Taking one step, two, three, Azama closed the distance between he and Harken, leaning in just a bit nearer. "Harken, was it? ...Do you want to know what I recall?"

Also rhetorical. Harken was about to hear the answer, whether he wanted to or not.

"I recall the world crumbling around us, myriad lives twinkling out of existence like shooting stars going dark. Among those, I had no real memory of my students and fellow faculty on the opposite faction - all I knew were those with me in Argent, amongst which numbered family: people I quite liked a fair bit, maybe even loved."

A sharp inhale through the nose. Exhale.

"They're all gone now. They died with me and all the rest, in that mirror."

Head tilted to the side in question.

"Do you think it was only an illusion?"

Azama's smile faltered. Arms crossed over his chest in challenge.

[ TXT ] : Eliwood listens to you, trusts your advice. The path he is going down since the loss of his father concerns us. It is too much for someone of his disposition.

[ TXT ] : He will not listen to me, but he may listen to you.

A game of telephone || accepting!

Muffled though the sound was by his phone's position under his pillow, Mark could still distinctly hear the vibration. Mark had known this response was coming. He knew Harken would not simply leave well alone. He had every reason to be concerned for Eliwood's well-being, Mark couldn't fault him for that. Mark was every bit as concerned about his friend, after all. Still, was this the most productive way to go about it?

If Harken was pushing this hard for Mark to handle things, then he was probably out of options. No doubt he had already tried prying Hector-- no doubt that had been a dead end as well. Mark was nowhere near as resolute as Hector, but even he had his limits. This seemed as good a time as any to put his foot down. Eliwood needed his time to grieve. He could be pushed down more productive paths once he had been given time to mourn.

Mark sighed, reaching under the pillow to pull his phone free. He read and reread the message, typing a response and deleting it several times over. He didn't want to come across too harshly. Harken cared, and this was simply an expression of it. Mark could never fault him for that. Still, Eliwood was no child. It was important to give him the leeway to make his own decisions. If everyone told him how it was correct and incorrect to grieve, he would never be able to truly come to terms with his own feelings.

"Ah, excuse me, my lady!" Harken calls out, a hand held slightly in the air to further catch her attention as he makes his way through the crowd to her. "That shirt, did you get it from a man with blond hair, perhaps? Might you be able to point me in the direction you last saw him, if so? I have...something I need to discuss with him."

There are a few reasons that Ethlyn can think of for someone to be searching out Beowolf specifically and most of them leave her worried. If he's gotten up to something to get himself into trouble, she feels a little bit obligated to look out for him. It's what Quan would do and she also does owe him for livening up her evening by giving her his shirt.

She can't just throw him under the carriage so quickly without figuring out who exactly wants him and for what.

[ TXT ] : I shouldn't be doing this, but we come from similar places, so I feel I owe you what little chance the warning may offer.

[ TXT ] : Your friend should get out while he can, and if you intend to remain around him, you'd do well to be careful about it.

[ TXT ] : i appreciate the heads-up. i don't disagree.

[ TXT ] : you should be careful as well, you know.

"Though it was brief, we were...a part of the same group that went into the mirror." That was one way to describe it. "We did a little training together, and I...I wanted to ask if you would be willing to show me more of your healing magic?"

"Why wouldn't your hands be able to provide succor?" she had asked him then, when he had doubted his own ability to provide any healing or comfort, even though it was not entirely her.

Was it right to ask for guidance from her, when it was not fully her he had asked to begin with?

He was just...so tired. Tired of being capable of little else with his hands but bloodshed. His hands would never be clean, but only he had the power to choose if more blood would be added to them or not.

Mercedes would hardly consider it an intrusion, her door is always open to residents of the monastery who need a patient ear or simply want a cup of tea and easygoing company. Her guests are usually fellow students but she sees no reason to turn anyone away, especially on a calm, weekend afternoon. Though when she opens the door, her breath catches in her throat.

Such kind eyes, tired but gentle, stare back.

Her second betrayal in the mirror world was far more sinister than a simple change of allegiance. Whilst others branded her untrustworthy, a traitor, Harken had reached out. Trained with her, talked with her openly without concerns from the whispers that followed her and the vipers waiting to strike. He had trusted her and she too had opened her heart to him.

Then she'd forgotten him completely. So utterly that if someone had mentioned his name, it would have been meaningless to her. Mercedes had charged into battle alongside the others from Haven without even questioning what had happened to their amiable, steadfast knight.

"Harken! I'm so sorry, I can't forgive myself for forgetting but I remember everything now." Mercedes throws her door open, inviting him in to take a seat. Her eyes dart over to the teapot, making her way over to start boiling the water. "I'm still so grateful for your kindness, Sir Harken. Those were... difficult and confusing times for me but you were a bright candle in the dark."

"I would be more than happy to show you. Honestly, my heart is glad that you want to learn. I dare say it would suit you, actually," Mercedes says happily, gently tending the flame beneath the teapot. "Would you like to pick a blend? We could chat about your goals over a nice warm cup."

"Forgive me for the intrusion to your rest, my lady, but I wished to...see that you have been properly seen to. You were...with Argent from the start, and I do not think we ever crossed paths," Harken greets quietly, "I must thank you for looking out for those on that side. I do not know what you all went through, but...we were...are...the only ones who might understand one another. If there is anything I can do in this aftermath, I am at your service."

The misgivings of a recent ally brought answers to questions the dragon had not even thought to ask. As he listened to the man, surprise passed over him in the same fraction as understanding. Byleth was the other professor's name? Foreign insight, to be sure; Rafal had not placed a singular mote of concern to unearthing the strangers at his side or joining his strength to theirs. Perhaps his independence in that battle even extended to greater consequences.

A reasonable mind could infer that their lack of total unity had been paid forward with defeat, a mistake their more victorious enemies had not shared. But he cast those growing thoughts aside with a shaking head. The kicked dog look before him was rather distracting and begged stopping. With immediacy.

"Your remorse over me is misplaced," he responded plainly without sympathies for either party, both collateral losers and ascendant winners. "I require neither protection nor apology. It was a mock battle. You lasted longer than any of us. Clouding your triumph with unnecessary considerations is an act without worth."

The Fell Dragon's forthright tones were dissonant with crooned comforts and he had even glimpsed the other's strength in the slivers of opportunity to be had. There would be no gentle words here or any stark need for them between warriors. Still, a beat pursued the thought he offered; a necessary one, of course. One could not dredge up the topic of failure during that time without reference to his own.