#nagablooded

hi guys sooo @lordofthewindsong & i have this silly couch banter that goes on & on since we met each other & it’s beautiful

bonus:

          ❝ i wonder… ❞

  her words are a soft whisper. lewyn had never minded the silence and she had learned to appreciate it. there’s a certain feeling of peace when the world grows quiet but she has grown to understand the FEAR OF SILENCE. people never like it as it covers everything and all that’s heard is their own heartbeat. she had been the same.

                                  if she stays silent, the ghosts whisper to her.

  her fingers move in the air and flicker to grow a small flame. her father had been the same ( a candle’s light ) and julius had been extinguished far too soon. what was the reason of her being alive if her family was gone? she lets the flame die and then, julia grasps her fingers.

          ❝ i really do but there are days i wished i had died with you. ❞

〔 ✦ 〕 CELICA could see why Sigurd was in love with her. Deirdre was stunning, and she carried an easiness that put any soul near her at rest. Copper eyes would follow as her lavender locks disappeared behind a corner, her feet moving to catch up to her. Ginger curls would bounce as she jogged up to the girl, giving her a small wave as she approached.

❝ I promise, it has nothing to do with Lady Adean...!     I’m frustrated for... o-other reasons! ❞

     Naiveté slowly took over his expression, blue eyes widening in pleasant surprise. Clearly, he did not expect to make his sweetheart laugh. Thin line along lips curled instantly at the sight of Deirdre bursting in laughter. He rejoiced, at how beautiful it sounded, even more than the melody of the bells when they married. He said nothing, blue eyes swarming with adoration for his petite wife, looking fondly at her expression & joy.

    Amusement soon took over him, though. His intentions were none but sweet, as the prince peered closer teasingly whilst he listened to her. Her speech felt like a prayer & mended his battle weary spirit. But Sigurd wouldn’t let her get away with pretty words.

seliph savors the quiet moments in between battles when idle chatter falls easily like rain. it’s a welcome reminder that he’s as suited to company as he is a battlefield and there remain parts of him that even war cannot burn. 

“ the stars? ” he echoes, biding time to offer a thoughtful answer. 

long days in tirnanog are never far behind him. what oifey had taught them of the constellations is dutifully committed to memory, but more fondly, seliph recalls longer nights in which he and the other children swapped hopes for the future into the early hours until sleep took them. 

many a night he had prayed for the strength of his father, that of the gods, and a divine sword that was once lost to him, but over time he’s come to realize that all this is greater than one man. lewyn urges him to look past himself— at truths that are difficult to come by, warped by ambitions and grief.

          ❝ ... why? why would you think—? ❞

 she remembers too well now ( and wishes it was the opposite ) the feeling of seeking for her mother’s warmth. the gentle, candid light deirdre used to envelop her. some theorized it was the holy blood but, what did nobles know? they understood nothing. they had always been the ones in power, condemning the whole continent into a bath of blood. if she had grown up, lived the life she’d been born into — would she have been the same?

                                    a puppet left ignorant towards the masses’ suffering.

          ❝ not having your memories, who can blame you for that? it's not your fault! ❞

 THE WHAT-IF IS PLAUSIBLE. her biggest worry as a child had been simple, carry flowers with julius and bring them to their mother, their clothes dirty and covered in mud. princess julia had been a happy, carefree child, too innocent to survive in the world she was thrown into too quickly. the orphan lewyn picked up had callouses on her hands now, tries to find her place in the world, as she mourns for a family long gone.

          ❝ forgive me... i didn't meant to be harsh. i... i was once the same, i lost my memories when i was a little girl. ❞

 the words are barely controlled, the pain slips through them. she understands ( more than anyone ) being an amnesiac, growing up without a sense of who you truly are. the sense of loss of being a whole individual.

 the bards will sing of a holy maiden of the forest. she dreads the day it comes, people praise nonsense and attempt to erase the humanity. julia wants to believe in the woman of flesh and blood, the one who put her out of harm’s way, the person who had loved her.

          ❝ but... you aren’t burden. you aren’t. please, don’t think you are. ❞

                                    i won't allow anyone call you that. i refuse.

⊰ ♖ ⊱

                   There were times where the sweet scent of the honeysuckle wafting in through some passing gale disturbed the pages of the book he’d buried himself into enough to turn a page for him, invariably far too early for him and before he’d managed to finish reading where he was. It hardly ever bothered him. From his seat at the long desk of the study beside the open window he could turn his head enough that his eye caught the glint of the late summer sun just beginning to dip low enough to teasingly nip at the edge of the horizon, the red-golden light filtering in through the brightly lit leaves of the growth of sweet autumn clematis that had overtaken a good portion of the western wall of Belhalla castle. Emperor Arvis responded by quietly shutting the tome he’d been pouring over, electing instead to drum his fingers against the binding of the book while he craned his neck ever so slightly to see if he couldn’t spot any shadowy figures clad in dark cloaks moving about outside, robes billowing like wisps of smoke in the wind.

                   Manfroy had taken to skulking around the castle more often lately, always nearby the twins but most especially around Julius. The sight of a man so closely associated with blackmail and unpleasantries in his head hovering over his son like a moth to a flame never failed to curdle his stomach, but with their agreement set up the way that it was it was terribly difficult to do much about it without risking any unsavoury secrets bubbling up to the surface and leaking out to the public, and with how well the empire was doing lately any threat of destabilisation was simply...

                                       ... But there was still Julius... Oh, he just couldn’t dispel the notion that there was some impending storm headed their direction, but the skies were clear and shone a brilliant light pink in the early twilight, save for a lone cloud rolling by here and there. Arvis turned his head back away from the window to face Deirdre, any tension or apprehension in his eyes dispelling almost immediately as soon as they settled on the hair obscuring her face.                    Surely nothing could befall them that they couldn’t find some way to get through as long as she was still well and sound. The mere sight of her always seemed to manage to put his fretful heart to rest, if for a moment.

                   "... The nights are starting to drag on a bit and come on early. I do believe we’re fast approaching the fall.”