enduring legacy.

What he wanted to say could wait until they were alone again, after they were free of the thief's mewlings and pleas that he kept clinging to. He was as bad as he was to the Knights as he was to them on the trip back, no matter what threats were waved in front of his face. The only thing that became clear was that he had a script, and that he was too stupid or stubborn to drift from it, even if it would save his own skin.

It was only after the impostor failed to weasel himself free of the two Knights dragging him away that he said something new.

Ares paid it no mind at first, no matter how loudly and pathetically he whined out "OH PLEASE OH PLEASE GOOD SIRS, WON'T ANYONE HEED A WRONGED MAN'S PLIGHT?" His back remain firmly turned, content to leave that voice to fade behind him in a cell.

Things changed quickly when the man forced his head over the Knights' shoulders to add, at the top of his lungs:

"MY DEAREST FRIEND WILL BE EXPECTING ME SOON!"

Not only did it force Ares to a stop, but it was enough to halt the Knights as well. Ares was the one who seized the impostor's attention first though, using an incredulous glare he'd turned over his shoulder, and paired with a single word that dripped with venomous disdain:

"It was only a guess on my part, but he really isn't working alone," he states, raising his voice so he won't get drowned out by the imposter. The man, likely emboldened by the attention of everyone present, keeps going: 'Oh, yes! My friends are waiting--! They won't stand for this injustice!' And so on.

"Knights, I will leave questioning him to you." While they could stay for the interrogation, he has a feeling that getting any useful information out of him will take far too long. "In the meantime, Ares and I will head back to where we found him. If he doesn't show up, I assume his 'friends' will come looking for him."

Even if the accomplices aren't there by the time they arrive, they might be able to find some clues.

"Wearing the same thing twice is improper, apparently." An incredulous edge punctuated the end of that fact, leaving a small pause afterwards to wait and see if that was still a revelation to Seliph as much as it had been to him.

Ares had already guessed not though, since Seliph was wearing something new too. The other guests, now steadily fanning out in an easy single file alongside the ship's rails, were also probably the same, even if he never paid enough attention to ever notice such a thing. Or care.

A part of him thought that not wearing the same attire to every event was a given. Another part, however, understands that Ares has always been a more practical, no-nonsense type.

"I suppose it shows you care enough to make an effort with your appearance," he settles on an answer that feels right to him. "As a king, it's what I must be conscious of. Although I am here to study, my actions can still reflect on Grannvale."

Under his feet, the ship constantly sways back and forth among the waves. That by itself is nothing new. However, Seliph notices it is no longer the same gentle rocking from a few moments ago. It is as though the sea itself is responding to the coming storm.

But he did know her. He had heard of her. It was an odd experience, to be referred to in such a manner - Lachesis had her fair share of stories told of her in life, and those had all rather fallen into the same genre of story, the intransigent bastard of Nordion, the princess who spurned suitors and flaunted her brother's status, etcetera ad nauseum.

Lachesis did not think she would grow sick of hearing what Seliph would have to say of her, or what he had heard from another's mouth.

"Of course," she said again, this time bracing her hands and her full - diminished - weight against the basin as Seliph prepared to strike, and oh, for a moment, he looked every inch his father's son, ready to vanquish the rice pulp, the indefatigable scion of Baldr.

In a split second of panic, blue eyes dart to Lachesis' hands. The young king smiles sheepishly at her once he realizes that there is no swelling or redness, no signs of harm done. "Let me try this again." He readjusts his grip and raises the mallet again.

This time, it falls on the rice with a satisfying thwack.

"Anyhow, I've been told that you were ferocious on the battlefield, but kind off it, Lady Lachesis." Seliph has yet to see the lioness bare her fangs, but he doesn't doubt the validity of those words.

"Does Princess Nanna know you are here? And what of Ares?" It is his turn to ask. "They're attending the academy," he adds, despite the real possibility that she is already aware of her daughter and nephew's presence in the hallowed halls of Garreg Mach.

He makes sure to keep the pace of his swings steady but not uncomfortable to work with.

that single word— edain’s heart thunders in her chest, the chatter of the students in the background only making everything so much louder. seliph seems to be able to see right through her, so she follows behind him without any fuss. always the kindest of children, she thinks while watching his back.

“you’re a good child seliph. the only thing it would have made me think was that someone was trying to take advantage of you.” she chuckles, trying and failing to school her expression to calm. “it just would have made me come here all the more faster. you might be a grown adult now, but i still feel like i have to protect you sometimes…” even she can recognize when she worries a little too much over a now grown adult. 

"Yes, of course!" A smile over his shoulder washes away some of the guilt on his conscience. He thinks of Mother's warm hug and Father's beaming smile—both of them have treated him as their child from the very beginning.

He consciously slows down his pace to walk alongside Edain instead of forging ahead.

"Sometimes, it feels a little strange, though." His voice lowers in its pitch as he voices what has weighed on his mind. "I was so young when they last saw me, and I don't... I don't really have any memories of them. For so long, all I had were these stories I heard."

And what was this about Diarmuid?! He is truly lost in this conversation now, but what he protests more is the playful mussing up of his hair, and he almost forgets in the moment that Lord Seliph still watches.

When he remembers, however, Leif pouts and shoots a glare towards the Black Knight, only slightly more serious than the man's own lighthearted attack. His pride will recover from this, but...

(He does wish it wasn't in front of Lord Seliph.)

But between them, pride might be the very thing that they cannot keep a hold on, because as Ares tries to move on and sweep aside the matter of what happened to his face, the fates are crueler, and out comes the parasol to force Ares's mouth to backpedal.

Payback time.

“ Ordinary? In the middle of a battle? ”  Leif kicks the parasol up into the air, letting it spin briefly before he catches it with the hand of his that had been wielding the staff, now fitting the two rod-like instruments together against the flat of his palm.  “ From THE Black Knight?? I don't know, Lord Seliph. ”

It's obvious Leif doesn't buy it.

"It's a sword," he huffed as he swung a hand around to snatch the parasol away. Once held above their heads, one thumb pressed against the handle-shaped hilt to flash the blade hidden inside. "All of mine were too high-grade for a mock battle such as this." His only other option was forfeiting, which was also the only thing worse than swinging this thing around.

Maybe it is just Seliph, but he cannot help but notice one tiny flaw in his friend's logic.

"...Too high-grade?" he parrots, tilting his head to the right this time.

"Doesn't the monastery hand out iron swords to students who have proven they are skilled enough? I certainly recall receiving one." The smile on his face grows. His question would sound almost innocent if he weren't mercilessly joining the prince in teasing the Black Knight.

"I'd think you own one as well, Ares. Unless something happened to it?"

but she stiffens at the question he asks, pursing her lips. she knew she was going to have to confront him about his parents at some point, but that didn't change the way her heart sunk in her chest just a little.

"ah, that, huh...." she murmurs, smile turning melancholy in a way that seliph would surely recognize from his childhood.

Seliph nods in response to her question, relieved that she has already seen them but also guilty. "Yes."

His mouth opens, only to close. The faint chatter from the other side of the double doors is growing louder. "Let's continue our conversation as we walk, Edain."

Turning left, he starts leading them away from the classrooms.

"I met Mother within the first weeks of my stay here. Father showed up some time after." Seliph glances in her direction with two purposes in mind. For one, he makes sure she is following. Secondly, he tries to read her expression. "I thought about writing to you about them so many times, Edain... But if someone had told me my parents were alive before I saw them for myself, I would have been skeptical." Especially after that imposter had made his appearance and dashed the hopes Mother had planted in Seliph's heart.

"as for incidents," she turns to face him again, her lips twisting into an exasperated 'well, you know...' look, "they're bound to happen. these people are relentless. i won't be surprised if they end up grabbing the wrong person, who breaks their nose or twists their arm." the thought makes her brighten visibly. "it'd be deserved. they're not as harmless as they pretend to be."

Dorothea, a former diva, would know better than Seliph, a king, who has only gotten an unpleasant glimpse into a world completely different from his own.

Or is it?

The attention has been a source of discomfort for him at times. It didn't cross a boundary but erected a wall between him and others, for just a boy was seen as larger than life. More than a human. Or is he drawing similarities between two completely different experiences?

"No, thank you. I am not interested." Seliph forces his expression to harden. Be firm. In Dorothea's place, he attempts to picture the man who tried to touch his hair just moments ago. "I'll report you to a staff member if you still refuse to take no for an answer."

Unable to hold it for long, he breaks into a smile. "Well, how was that? Firm enough to drive a scout away, I hope? I'd rather not resort to violence if I can help it..."

[ MOVIE - FARCE ] - A techno-magical reproduction of a performance following the double lives of two young noble men who so happen to share a name.

"Well... This isn't something we get to see every day in Jugdral, is it?" Seliph doesn't mean the play itself, but rather, the technology used to show it. ( ethereal ball — second half. )

    “You're right! It isn't!!” From one distraction to another, Leif remains spellbound by the technology on offer at this year's Ethereal Ball. He'd gotten a feel for the new photo-artifex model earlier, but he hadn't gotten the full scope of what people would do with it until the lights at the venue had dimmed and from there, the stories were unveiled.

And before Leif knows it, he's showing a more excitable tone in front of Seliph than he ever intended. The prince's voice pitches high, eyes lit up in a way that never quite made it to the king's ears and eyes during the Final Holy War as the boy nods now.

“The demonstration earlier wasn't anything long like this... I can hardly believe how much they can exchange! You could put a whole speech on this and get it anywhere, couldn't you?”

But as quickly as he makes that outburst, the play finished and many of the other patrons filtering out of the room, Leif seems to develop some sense of shame as he startles seemingly to nothing; soon after, he clears his throat, and his voice drops an octave lower.

“Ah... I didn't mean to show such a childish side to you, Lord Seliph...”

Behind kindness and grace, he hopes his words alone convey the subtle nudge: his cousin shouldn't need to worry about putting on appearances in front of him. These little glimpses of the Leif he hasn't had a chance to know tell of the wall slowly getting dismantled, brick by brick, after Seliph offered his hand.

Or so that part of Seliph, who wants to understand his cousin better, hopes it's the case.

"Besides, I can see it." A thoughtful hum, as he turns away from the dark screen to trail after the rest of the people. "If such an invention were to get exported to Jugdral, it would have potential for other uses—and not merely for entertainment."

Seliph cannot claim to have a deeper understanding of how magic works beyond rudimentary lessons. However, the results are usually miraculous or terrifying.

"I wonder what Ares would think about it, but I haven't seen him at all tonight. Have you, Prince Leif?" If the man is somewhere on the premises, Seliph must have missed him every time. It is a little ridiculous since their friend easily towers over most people in a room.

She accepts the tulip from him, exchanging it with her own lily, as she asks, "Or might there be another title you prefer I call you? And from where do you hail, again?"

As he later found out, other groups were also swept up in their share of conflicts. He even received word of dissenters who sought to punish 'traitors' in the middle of the Day of the Twelve festivities. It is a grim reminder that there is still much to be done before peace fully reigns in Fódlan.

One hand cups the bottom of her glass as she surveys the table with a thoughtful hum. He is right. Such familiar gifts of years passed are entirely absent at present. "Perhaps someone finally did something that made the monastery decide it was enough."

Not entirely impossible, with the people here. Still, she laughs at the thought. "Or they are simply saving them for later in the evening. We will have to wait and see."

But as Mitama says, the missing refreshments may be served later on.

"Of course! Don't let me keep you." Seeing that the conversation is about to end, Seliph offers her a smile and a polite wave. "Again, it was nice meeting you."

He will be sure to say hello should they cross paths in the hallway.

Turning away from the table, Grannvale's king takes another cautious sip of his drink and cringes.

Still too cold for his liking.

"A young lady told me of you, said she was a mage in your army once upon a time." Hmm. He did not look much older than her, now that she inspected his face properly. "How odd. You seem quite young to be burdened with that sort of responsibility. Adults are truly shameless, are they not?"

Nevermind. This is a night for happier things, not dwelling on events that are better left behind them. Mitama fusses to find a place in her bouquet for the tulip while watching him attempt to brave the icy goblets before them.

Brave and fail, if the speed with which he relinquishes it was any indication.

In a similar vein, he doesn't linger on the comment about responsibility.

"The novelty of it certainly made me curious about shaved ice. It isn't something I could dream of eating—much less drinking!—as a child," the young king admits with a soft chuckle.

He picks up the glass again, feeling the cold seep in through his glove. "But now that you mention it, they usually serve sparkling water with syrups to choose from... There isn't as much variety this year."

"oh, your hair! it's stunning. the sheen of it! the color! you know, i've got to ask—have you done anything to it? no matter if so, because your look will go a long way in enbarr..."

dorothea watches as the man, dressed head-to-toe in flowing fabrics of emerald green, reaches out to touch seliph's ponytail. pure luck dictates that she's close enough to intervene, and with a small twist, she pivots away from the conversation she'd just been partaking in to slap the scout's hand away.

lightly, of course, regardless of how tempted she is to make it sting.

almost instantly, the stranger lets out a small yelp and pulls the offending hand back. "wh...?"

"where are your manners? no respectable person goes around touching others like that," she snaps. "honestly! as if you'd successfully recruit anyone like this."

with a final (and very scathing) look at the affronting scout, dorothea motions for seliph to follow her to the side. it's when they're some paces away from the flurry of action that her expression softens apologetically.

"Thank you for your help, Dorothea." He dips his head before straightening. "I'll keep your advice in mind."

Seliph has no interest in joining a theater troupe in Enbarr; he has enough spotlight on himself without becoming a performer and a duty to fulfill. Saying a firm no from the get-go will likely rescue him from some future situations. At least, that means Dorothea or someone else he knows won't have to come to his rescue.

"I can only hope that all these talent scouts won't end up causing an incident..." He trails off, glancing sideways. That talent scout from earlier is already harassing another poor attendee. He turns back to Dorothea. "That said, you sound rather familiar with them?"

What a beautiful person.

Like tea and honey, Adrestia's waltz made a lovely pair to the nobility this man carried himself with. He looked the part of a classic royal: the soft furs of his cape, a perfectly pressed suit of royal blue, shimmering underneath the ballroom lights. The violins swelled in full force; to twirl and sway in his hold made her feel like the quintessential princess from her childhood storybooks, a rare thought of fancy she didn't mind entertaining.

But as the music comes to an end, Céline clasping his hand and extending her opposite arm to mimic a bird's wings, the excitement of the dance fades. In its wake, the sobering weight of reality is left to set in.

Letting his hand go, Firene's princess lifts her skirts for a curtsy. "Thank you kindly for the wonderful dance—might I offer you this lily, in gratitude?"

Not to mention, it helps to have such a skilled partner, doesn't it?

Hand brought to his chest, he responds to the young woman's curtsy with a bow of his own. Not too low yet respectful, still somewhat mindful of his own station in a formal setting like this. He wonders if she is a noblewoman.