#🔥Iᵗ ⁱˢ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵃˡˡʸ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ - ask prompts

[fjalarspark]

She catches him exiting their house's classroom one day and a gentle hand is placed on his shoulder. He always seemed rather nervous when she knew him before but now, well, perhaps she does understand why it seems to have increased. Still, she offers him a warm and inviting smile.

"Lord Azelle, it is wonderful to find you here. And as a student in my house!" Her smile broadens, reaching and crinkling the corners of her eyes. It is not just her house, after all. And it is so nice to have so many of her family members nearby. "Though I daresay you would make a fine processor. I cannot imagine you learning much from me!"

Her hand slides down his arm and clasps his hand tight. Her eyes look into his, pleading. "You will join us for tea soon, yes? I know he misses you dearly."

He had met her once, after Yngvi’s catastrophe ( to which he could merely pray to hallowed Crusaders above that its lady had returned unharmed, his boyish affection once prevalent ) — a maiden of mystical presence and dually as enchanting : lilac, gentle, clementine, wielding a prowess of holy magicks few had been able to. ( And the scholarly, lore-seeking part of him wishes he’d bonded with her — learned from her that holy, ineffable prowess. Maybe then he’d wield something impressive . . . )

And then he met her again. At Belhalla. Poised at that . . . that — that man’s side ( reprobate, traitor, liar ; why couldn’t he let those words cross his mind? That’s what that man was; why act as if he was anything but? )

Her hand lays upon his shoulder, then spiders to his hand, and takes it with a grasp he’d not have pondered from her ; it is gentle but retains his attention, and he thinks it a dangerous thing to be able to soothe one yet latch a vice around their hand. With what musterable courtesy he manages, he withdraws his hand from hers and tucks it near his chest, thumbing at the tome he holds to his sternum.

”Madam, there’s plenty more for me to learn.” He offers — courteous albeit stilted, withheld, hesitant. “He . . . ?”

But he knew who. That man — ( reprobate, traitor, liar ) his brother, guide, idol ; the shame that blossoms like a spider lily in the chambers of his heart to yet revere ( to yet fear ) Grannvale’s tyrant brings scarlet to his visage and a frown to his lips.

“No,” He tries, as if testing the word on his tongue — it feels numb and weightless, limp; but no word could have a stronger implication. “I . . . don’t want to see him. I’m sorry. I should go.”