#and to Ferdinand who did that for her from the moment she stepped in the temple

[nefertittythegreat]

Ok, but the reason Ferdinand loves Myne so much is because she was the first person to love him unconditionally. Now I'm not saying Ferdinand wasn't loved, clearly Sylvester loves his brother dearly, but because of how Yurgenschmidt works no one was in a position to love Ferdinand just as is. Something else in their lives had to take precedence over him, but for Myne, Ferdinand was a priority. She put him first, and no one in his life has. For the first time, someone cared about him openly without fear of repercussions, and needless to say, that fact resonated with him.

[ellecdc]

can i request a poly!marauders where the reader just tends to wonder off, like she’s suspended to be in class but she just talking to one of the portraits or just outside staring at the sky and sometimes james and/or sirius follow her so remus has to round them up

so stinkin' cute - thanks for your request lovie!

~please note: my requests are currently closed as I work through some of my older requests~

poly!marauders x fem whimsical!reader

“I don’t mean to alarm you boys,” Marlene started, not looking at all concerned about alarming them in the slightest. “But I think you might be missing a member of your group.”

Sirius and James looked to each other in horror as Remus let out an exasperated sigh.

“Where is she?” Remus asked impatiently.

“I swear she was just behind me...” James admitted, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. 

“She cannot miss lunch, she hardly sat down long enough for breakfast this morning.” Remus commented mostly to himself as he headed back the way he came, hoping to quickly find wherever you’d wandered off to.

Although your whimsy and excitement in life was one of the things the boys most admired about you, it did make Remus worry from time to time that you’d forget to look after yourself.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, however, seeing as you had three boyfriends here to help you out on that end. Though, it didn’t speak very highly of them when they kept losing you.

There were very few moments in his life he was particularly grateful for his lycanthropy, but this was perhaps one of them.

He could smell you before he heard you, and he heard you before he saw you. 

He rounded a corner which was disturbingly far from the Great Hall, meaning they’d lost you quite some time ago, and saw you conversing with a portrait of the Fat Friar. 

“From what I’ve learned both in life and in death, forgiveness is not only for the other person, but also for yourself.” The Fat Friar said to you. Remus paused in his steps to enjoy the uninhibited smile that graced your face. 

“Have you ever met someone unworthy of forgiveness, Friar?” You asked, your serene voice drifting down the hallway and gracing Remus’ ears.

“Not in my nearly 1000 years.” He answered.

Your smile grew impossibly wider at that. “Me either.”

Remus couldn’t take it anymore, he resumed his trek towards you, and though he’d been going for stern, he knew his face looked impossibly lovesick as you turned your beaming smile onto him.

“Hi Rem.” You called softly, turning away from the portrait and towards your boyfriend.

“We thought we lost you, dovey.” He reprimanded as he reached for your face, resting one hand on either cheek and tilting your face up towards him.

“I’m never very far.” You answered. Remus was torn between wanting to roll his eyes fondly and thanking you for ensuring that this was true.

“Any amount of space is too far, my love.” He said instead, placing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyes closed and you let out a pleased hum. 

“Why’d you wander off, dove?” He asked as he pulled back, keeping your face secured in his hands and rubbing your cheekbones with his thumbs. 

“I saw a dedalian key fly by, but as I was following it, I saw the portrait of Ferdinand Octavius Pratt who was very upset because the Fat Friar’s ghost insisted that he let go of old grudges. So, I figured I’d ask the Friar his side of the story. And, well, here we are.” You finished, smiling up at him like having him find you here had been your master plan all along.

“Here we are.” He murmured back, wondering how on earth he and his boyfriends managed to land something as impossibly sweet as you. 

Speaking of said boyfriends, Remus’ thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two heavy footfalls as the sods came running up to the two of you.

“There you are dollface! We were worried sick.” Sirius proclaimed as he all but shoved Remus out of the way and took his place, holding your face in his hands and peppering your head with kisses.

You giggled and pulled back slightly, which Sirius allowed but kept you safe within his grasp.

“You needn’t worry, Sirius. I was in wonderful company.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow and Remus translated for him.

“She was busy talking to the Fat Friar when I found her.”

Sirius nodded in understanding before he narrowed his eyes at you. “He wasn’t making moves on you, was he?”

You laughed as if Sirius had made some very funny joke, and Remus laughed along with you even though he could tell Sirius wasn’t  entirely convinced. 

“I’m sorry we lost you, angel.” James said somewhat meekly. Remus knew though that he was mostly apologizing to Remus and less to you.

“That’s quite alright Jamie.” You assured him. “I would have found you later.”

Some tension left James’ shoulders as he smiled at you, sharing a shy glance with Remus before continuing. “You didn’t eat much for breakfast since you were so excited about the Grindylow’s hatching, so...” He said as he pulled out a tote bag from behind his back. “Pads and I ran to the kitchens and packed a picnic. Would you like to head down to the Black Lake now?”

If Remus’ heart grew two sizes at the sentiment, yours must have grown three.

“Oh, Jamie!” You nearly squealed, pulling him into a hug that he eagerly reciprocated. 

“I’d love that! Thank you!” You cheered, stepping back towards Sirius who quickly hooked your arm in his – a guarantee that he wouldn’t lose you this time.

“After you then, m’lady.” Sirius said seductively with a wink, causing you to giggle again as the two of you turned and headed towards the school grounds. 

Remus quickly pulled James up against his side and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“You’re such a sweet boy, James Potter.” He murmured, feeling the fondness ooze right out of his being for this man he somehow got to call his. 

“Yeah?” James asked, sending Remus a beaming smile.

Remus smiled and accepted a searing kiss from the quidditch chaser.

James let out a pleased sigh as he pulled out of the kiss and walked in step with Remus, looking ahead to watch you and Sirius nearly skip down the hall. It was incredibly lighthearted, though Remus noticed Sirius possessively pull you into his side as you two walked past the ghost of the Fat Friar who exchanged nothing more than a polite head nod with you.

“We’re so lucky.” James commented.

Remus couldn’t help but agree.

[malsfefanfics]

Edelgard/Hubert please? 👉👈

Here we go~!

"Hubert? Have you been growing your hair out?"

Edelgard saw him stiffen setting his book down slowly as he avoided eye contact. It wasn't unusual, if she were honest. She'd seen him with hair that rested past his chin before, especially during the war.

But shortly before they stepped down from their positions, Hubert had taken a few months away to spend time with family. His sister was about to leave for Almyra, and his brother was preparing to attend the Officer's Academy. It would be the last chance they would see each other for some time.

But when he returned, she noticed he had started wearing his hair down far more often. And now it rested just past his shoulders.

And what's more, it was tied back with a soft lavender ribbon.

"I....well, yes," Hubert conceded. "I had decided it was time for a change. Is there a problem?"

"No, there isn't," she assured. "But...the ribbon..."

"Ah, yes. Do you like the color? It's your favorite, if I recall correctly."

"If you recall-" Edelgard shook her head in disbelief. "Hubert, you helped me with my hair for years. You still do. You know exactly which colors are my favorites. You know everything about me!"

He nodded. "For the most part, yes. Though I'm sure there are things I have yet to learn."

"I highly doubt that." She came over to his beside him, gently playing with his bangs. "Why wear my favorite color? Why not wear your own?"

"I don't have one. So why not wear yours?"

"Don't lie to me, Hubert. I know you have a favorite color."

"Is that right?" Hubert smirked. "Then tell me, what is it? I'll give you three guesses. If you don't guess correctly, you won't pry further."

"And if I get it correct?"

"Then I will concede to whatever you ask."

Edelgard rolled her eyes. "You would do that regardless. Always have."

"So you'll not take the challenge, my Lady?"

"No, I will. Just give me a moment"

She made herself comfortable, admiring the softness of his ponytail. There was a subtle hint of herbs coming from him. No doubt one of the colognes he'd been gifted from Ferdinand. But it had a familiar edge to it. Similar to what he wore two or three years into the war. Simple, yet bold. Almost like roasted beans.

She hummed softly. "You know...there was one question I never did get an answer to."

"Trying to change the subject?" Hubert teased.

"No, it's related."

"Very well. Do go on."

"1183. Your cape had those pale green straps."

Hubert's ears turned pink. "And?"

"And I always wondered why you had them dyed that color. Especially since you always mentioned that you dress in dark clothing to hide bloodstains better."

"Who told you that?" He narrowed his eyes. "Was it Ferdinand?"

"Now who is trying to change topics?" She tapped him on the nose. "Is it because your favorite color is green?"

A beat of silence, and then Hubert burst into laughter. "I should have been more subtle. Very well. You win. What do you ask of me?"

Edelgard smiled, giving him a featherlight kiss on the cheek. "Wear it more. We're no longer involved in the running of the Empire. You should wear your favorite color more, dear."

Hubert let out a sigh, wrapping an arm around her. "Very well. As you wish, love."

[indigowallbreaker]

A prompt if it tickles your fancy: #67 kiss prompt for Dorothea/Bernadetta?

It tickles me indeed! :D Thanks for being the first prompt for the Black Eagles Run!

[prompt rules]

[more Beagles stories]

67: When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

--

The show went off without a hitch as far as Bernadetta could tell. Dorothea had warned her to expect hiccups or missed cues, this being the first night the Mittelfrank Company was showing this particular opera, but Bernadetta hadn't noticed even a slight wrinkle on the costumes. She stood and clapped with the rest of the audience as the actors came out for a final bow, beaming when Dorothea's gaze lingered on her.

The crowd began to file out shortly after. Bernadetta hesitantly made her way towards the backstage door Dorothea had told her to use. She had permission from the star of the show, of course, but what if someone stopped Bernadetta before she could explain that? What if they didn't believe someone like her could be the Dorothea Arnault's girlfriend?

As Bernadetta came upon Dorothea's dressing room door, however, she found the guards otherwise occupied. Several men holding flowers and small gifts were arguing with Dorothea's Imperial guard detail. Bernadetta exhaled, immediately grateful that Edelgard and Ferdinand had insisted Dorothea have her own palace guards when the opera house reopened last year. One guard made eye contact with Bernadetta, knocked on the dressing room door, and gestured for Bernadetta to approach. Ignoring the outraged men, Bernadetta hurried inside.

Straight into Dorothea's waiting arms.

"There you are!" Dorothea squeezed Bernadetta tight. "Is it still bad outside? I was hoping you could get here before them."

"S-Sorry," Bernadetta managed.

"No, no, don't be. They're just that desperate, I suppose." Dorothea stepped back and cupped Bernadetta's face. "So? What did you think?"

Bernadetta shook off her nerves and smiled for Dorothea, who was still wearing her makeup from the final scene. "You were amazing! So was everyone else, b-but you were incredible!"

Dorothea laughed. "What part did you like best? Which song?"

"Oh, um." Put on the spot, Bernadetta was suddenly having trouble recalling any one part of the opera. She knew Dorothea had performed flawlessly and that the story had been absorbing. But in that moment, with her girlfriend glowing in her arms, Bernadetta's mind had gone blank.

After a few seconds-- during which Bernadetta silently screamed at herself to say something-- Dorothea's smile gentled. "Never mind. Here, help me out of this." She took Bernadetta's hand and led her over to the vanity table. Turning, she indicated the zipper on the back of her dress, still smiling at Bernadetta in the mirror.

Bernadetta unclasped the top of the dress and began undoing the zipper. It was hard to keep eye contact with Dorothea, so she watched the zipper unwind instead. "Sorry," she said quietly. "I really did like it. I'm messing things up again. I should've brought you flowers or something like those guys so you knew how much..."

The dress pooled at Dorothea's feet. Her slip was a silky brown that almost matched her skin. Dorothea kicked the dress away and sat at the vanity bench facing Bernadetta, clasping her hands.

"Oh Bern..." Her tone alone was a balm to Bernadetta's nerves. "Anyone can give me flowers. You're the only one who can give me what I really want after a performance."

Bernadetta stared. Her mind, previously filled with a light buzzing as her anxiety cooled down, was suddenly flooded with images, any of which could fit into what she believed Dorothea was implying.

Sliding her hands from Dorothea's, Bernadetta cupped Dorothea by the chin, and kissed her. At first she easily slipped into her girlfriend's mouth-- but pulled back when she felt Dorothea tense. "I-I-I'm sorry!" she squeaked as Dorothea's wide eyes met hers. "I just thought-- Didn't you mean--"

She was cut off by Dorothea pulling her back in for another heated kiss. Bernadetta stumbled forward until she was practically in Dorothea's lap. "That is exactly what I meant," Dorothea said against her lips. "You just took the hint faster than I thought."

"O-Oh."

"Do you want to keep going?"

Bernadetta wanted to say that she would do whatever Dorothea wanted. That she was happy to have an edge over those men outside. That Dorothea deserved only best after carrying the show the way she had.

Instead, she drew Dorothea in with a kiss to the cheek, chin, and finally lips. Dorothea hummed in triumph, and Bernadetta decided that this was her favorite part of the opera.

[badfanficsforlyfe]

Wakingdeath Alchemist CH. 4 (FMA FF) (2012) (Age 13/14) [Posted to wattpad]

Chapter 4

The week passed quickly without anything interesting happening. I cut the bread, Ferdinand baked, and Ms. Corosps made the bread and took care of the people who were ordering. At night I read the beginner book over and over again to memorize everything I was learning just in case there was an explanation to what I made the other day. But each time I read it, the letters didn't rearrange, move, or change. It was the same each time.

Then it was Friday and I couldn't figure out which one was worse; leaving or talking to those guys. Here's what I mean by those guys.

I woke up on Friday morning wiping my eyes with the back of my hand and smiled at Kuagra who was still sleeping. Her soft fur coat slowly rose up and down matching her breathing and it sort of looked like she was smiling but I knew that cats couldn't smile. They sometimes just appeared to be.

Just as I slipped out of bed Ferdinand woke up sitting up.

"Jeez. You are a light sleeper." I scoffed and landed on my feet before walking over to the mirror. I straightened my white tank top before pulling over my shirt. I ran my fingers through my hair once again.

"Well I couldn't get a lot of sleep becuase of you." he said sourly.

"What? Why not?" I asked looking at him through the mirror.

"You were tossing and turning, talking in your sleep, and at one point you started screaming and crying."

"And you blame me for that?" I scoffed. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You'd go into a hitting fit."

I shut my mouth and looked at my feet. Was I really that violent? Was I really that bad?

I turned to my bed and went to pick up my belt before I got my satchel but instead Ferdinand got a hold of it and started running around the room like a hyper child. I grabbed my satchel and chased after him not having any luck because he was too fast. I decided to stop in the middle of the room and wait for the right moment.

When he jumped onto his bed, I flung my satchel at him making him crash into the wall and stop moving so I could run over there and get my belt back. When I tried getting my satchel back though, he played tug-of-war with me and wouldn't let go.

"Let go! what are you doing?" I grunted as I struggled to stay on my feet. He smiled and yanked harder making the strap slip from my grasp.

As I fell to my bottom, I saw my satchel fly in the air spilling everything. My dad's research papers floated to the ground and I tried my best to pick them up before Ferdinand got a good look at them. I successfully did that but he had another thing in his hand that caught my attention.

"You're learning Alchemy?" he asked surprise and quiet.

I neatly stacked the papers and folded them back into the satchel. "So what? I told you there's nothing wrong with it." I said simply.

"So you've been reading Alchemy books in the middle of the night?" he looked hurt and lied to.

"An Alchemy book. It's no big deal anyways. I already know how to do stuff." I shrugged.

"You mean you can actually learn stuff from these books!?" I heard Kuagra growl at him.

"Yes." I reached for the book but he got out of my range.

"What's the point of learning this stuff?" he asked narrowing his eyes at me.

"Because everybody does it. Do you remember the Elric brothers who used to live back in our village? They do Alchemy now too. They were the ones that told me about it in the first place. Give me my book back." I stood up and reached for the book but he stood up on the bed making me scowl.

"Tell me the real reason why you're learning this garbage." he said coldly and I stepped back sighing.

"Okay, if I tell you, can I have my book back? Information for a book equals equivalent exchange. It's only fair." I explained.

"Fine. Just go on." he said and I sighed.

"I want to get my Mother back from whoever took her. I already told you this, stupid." I reached for my book but he just laughed.

"You think Alchemy can fix your problems? Nothing can get your Mother back! She's gone forever!" I jumped onto his bed and punched him in the face earning back my book.

"How would you know that if you have two loving parents and an older sister? You don't know the pain of getting something ripped away from you by surprise. That's happened to me twice! I have to believe that I can get my Mom back or else everything's gone to waste." I stuffed my Alchemy book back into my satchel and stomped away while fastening my belt. I slammed the door behind me leaving him inside hopefully forever.

I was angry. I was so angry that I could just take out my knife and…I had to calm my thoughts down. I didn't want to see anymore blood.

I wiped my tears as I walked down the hallway.

My footsteps calmed and I walked into the bread shop. Two men were standing next to Ms. Corosps laughing and talking.

"Oh! Shiomaki!" she said happily once she saw me. "These are my two original workers Meiwakuna and Iyana! Iyana this is one of the substitutes Shiomaki." she introduced. I looked at the two men. They had goofy smiles on their faces. Meiwakuna was taller than Iyana who had dark brown hair. Meiwakuna had short blond hair. I could tell they were both English gentlemen from their accents but it was hard to not think they were annoying and obnoxious.

"Well ay there little one. How a' you today?" Meiwakuna asked bowing and taking off his black top hat. I just stared at him oddly while Iyana stepped up. "If e' bows you bow back. It's a propa' greeting." he explained kind of rudely.

When I said 'talking to those guys' earlier, I meant these guys.

"Oh I'm sorray gentlemen. 'ere's my little bow. Do you like that?" I asked mocking their accent and bowing.

"My, a' you from the east too?" asked Meiwakuna and I smiled evilly.

"Only if you believe it my ducky." I said in my accent realizing that they were quite dumb.

"Lotus dear, when a' these little kids going to get out of ou' way?" Iyana asked Ms. Corosps. I scowled and moved my hand to my back holding on to the handle of a steak knife.

No. I can't get in the habit of this, I thought and reluctantly pulled my hand down.

"Why would she want to get rid of us? After all we are faster and work harder instead of some slackers who take a vacation off for who knows how long and leave one person to do all the work alone!" my words started off quiet but began to increase on volume.

"Calm down child. And we a' not slackas! We a' betta' and hada' working than a couple o' babies!" Meiwakuna yelled even though he was supposed to be the more mature one.

"Right Lotus?" asked Iyana but she had turned around to avoid that question.

"Hey, why is everyone yelling?" asked Ferdinand as he came out from behind me. I felt both of the boys' glares as they felt mine. We were drilling holes in each other's heads and we would have killed each other if Lotus hadn't noticed and broke the chain.

"Well," she started clapping her hands together. "I know this is an awkward moment to break in but it seems like the best so, " her expression softened and she looked at us small children. "I'm sorry you two but I can't fire my cousins just for a couple of kids. It may seem harsh but I'm sorry. You have to go." Ferdinand was about to protest when I elbowed him in the stomach to stop his whining.

"It's okay Ms. Corosps, we completely understand. It's for family. We'll be on our way," I said and pulled on Ferdinand's wrist and started tugging him out of the door.

"Wait you two!" she called. I turned around and saw her coming towards me with a paper bag and a piece of paper. "This will last about two days and the map is of this region." she handed us the bag and mapso I thanked her and pulled Ferdinand out of the door seeing Kuagra sitting on the dirt grooming herself.

"Kuagra? When did you get out?" I asked her but she just whined and rubbed her cheek against my ankle. "Come on girl. We're going to find Dad." I said and Ferdinand stopped.

"Your Dad? Since when did your Dad come into this situation?" he snapped.

"Since my Mother was taken. I need to know if he's alive. He's the only one who can help me get my Mom back." Ferdinand looked hurt.

"But I'm here." I shot lasers through my eyes.

"Since when was the last time you EVER stood up for me in my neighborhood when I was--just--I need to find my Dad. He knows more than both of us. I need to ask him where Mom could be and how to get her back if I can. My Dad can help. What have you ever done to save someone's life?" I said sounding nasty and mean.

It was silent until we exited the town and back into the green.

"Well if your Dad were to be somewhere, where would he be?" asked Ferdinand breaking the silence who obviously didn't know when to shut up.

"He would be in a hospital if he still is in his coma." she said bitterly spitting at the ground.

"There could be hundreds maybe millions of hospitals in the world! Where we we look?" he asked flying his hands everywhere.

"A long time ago--about a year-- I heard my Mom talking on the phone. She sounded like she was talking to Ms. Elric. It sounded like she said that the Hospital she sent him to was the one a town over from hers which is only a three day trip from here I do believe so that would only leave us a day without food which isn't so bad." I softened my voice only because I was talking about Ms. Elric who was very sweet and didn't deserve to talked about in a mean loud voice.

"What about the Elric brothers?" he asked.

"We'll drop by their place to see if they can come with us. I'll have Alphonse teach me Alchemy sooner or later but for now I'm stuck with the books."

There was a silence from him that told me that he didn't want to hear anything more about Alchemy. I could understand that. After all my Mother was considered a freak of nature when she learned it and he trusted her until she started doing it.

Was it my fault then?

Was it my fault my Mom was taken away, that she learned it and everybody turned against us, made Ferdinand not trust Alchemy?

Was it even my fault my Dad was put into a coma and shipped off?

[comfort-questing]

escape

FE3H academy phase -> TW whump of minors (teens)

-

"How much further did you say the Imperial camp was?" Bernadetta's voice had gone small and breathless, in the vastness of the night.

The cold ate at my bones as we trudged along, the murmur of water somewhere in the dimness at my one hand, Edelgard's dragging footsteps ominous at the other. I had watched her carefully the whole way, just as I had been watching all of us; her face was all ghostly in the dimness, the flaring light of our torches not enough to place color on it.

I had seen her before like this, in the darkness before dawn, her clothes blood-clotted and her eyes full of a strange distance. A year ago, a whole world I'd found and lost ago.

"We should be there by midnight," said Hubert, irritatingly awake, striding tirelessly along the path with his torch in one hand. "If we keep making good time."

"Bold words from a man who didn't join the battle till it was over," grumbled Ferdinand from behind us. Then, "Professor, Yuri's awake again. Can you..."

I knew what he was asking already, and I let my steps slow, to reach out my hand. Yuri's head lolled forward on Ferdinand's shoulder, his body limp weight on his back, singed clothes dark and stiff under my touch. He was whimpering again, a faint pain-sound riding every exhale, the blotchy burns on his skin from the strange mages' fire now starting to heal with my assistance. I felt him wince as my hand brushed his back.

"Yuri." I pushed the words out of my rough throat. "It's me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I didn't know if he was the one I should be apologizing for. The wind changed direction, bringing the stir of barren boughs along with it, and I shivered. Yuri shivered, too, as the flicker of my last healing spell settled over him.

Ferdinand sighed too, all the haughty look gone from his face now, the tendrils of ginger hair dark and sweat-matted to his dirty forehead. There were blood specks on his white collar, whether his or someone else's blood I didn't know.

"Professor - oh, I am sorry." That was Petra, bumping into me, as she stumbled along in weariness.

I reached out to steady her, carefully grabbing the hand that wasn't holding the torch, dodging out of the way of its smoky flame.

Ahead of me, Edelgard had lagged again, lips bitten white in her taut face.

"You rest," I signed to her, fiercely, in the torchlight. "I carry."

She shook her head. "I can walk."

I didn't think she could, and I didn't know how much longer I could bear watching her. I still had her blood on the sword I wore on my back, and the memory of her staggering to her feet across from me, one arm pressed to her stomach as the red of her torn jacket turned darker and wetter crimson every moment.

Kill Edelgard, Rhea had said.

I could not imagine any future or past in which I would have turned on her then. And so it had come to now, in the blackness of the forest paths, with the hope of shelter somewhere ahead of us and the wind murmuring our loneliness above our heads. For the first time in my life I couldn't give myself a picture of tomorrow, a guess at what might come before the next nightfall. All I knew was this moment, the cold sour bloodstained culmination of everything that had gone before.

I slipped an arm under Edelgard's shoulders, felt her stiffen, then sigh and droop ever so slightly into my grasp.

"Okay," said Bernadetta. "Midnight. Sure. But does anyone know what time it is now?"

And the short chuckle from Edelgard at that, half-hidden in my hair, gave me the first glimmer of hope I'd had for hours.

[officialtrashbin]

~* Alone & Again *~

An Edelgard x Claude ficlet for @villtura inspired by their ‘Learning to Trust’ art pieces!

~* *~

It didn’t occur to him that there was anyone else in the Black Eagles classroom until he was already half-way over the threshold and a sudden shadow breached his peripheral vision. It was too late for him to turn back now and instead he accepted Edelgard’s petulant gaze as it fixated on him with the same swift calculation he’d seen from her only once before, on the battlefield last moon: a Beast had made the mistake of flanking her from the right and he saw a lethal flash in her eyes as she felled it in one hit. It was the look of someone who'd almost been killed before. Maybe that was why she reminded him so much of a spider holed up in its burrow, watching the world’s natural motion, always poised to strike.

“Princess!” he said, assuming his casual facade as his feet carried him over scuffed floorboards to close the distance between them.

“Claude,” she deadpanned back. She didn’t step away when he came closer and he tried not to think about that too much. “What do you want?”

At that, he stopped. He squinted against the low sunlight filtering amber through the classroom window panes. Formalities were for people who hadn’t yet developed an opinion of the other, and since they were already an accidental hand brush at tea yesterday beyond being strangers, he supposed there was no longer the barrier of unfamiliarity dividing them.

“Just dropped by to ask the Professor a few questions,” he said, the lie coming to him as easily as all the others preceding it. “Lots of exams next week, as you know, and equal amounts pressure to perform at the top like the good imperial puppets we are. I figured I could butter the Professor up and get some helpful pointers—”

“Enough—please, don’t do this today.” She dug the heel of her palm into her left eye. “I’m...not in the mood.”

But he did have questions. About the church, about the Professor, about the Flame Emperor, about Rhea. Right now he wanted to ask why she sounded scooped hollow, and what she was doing alone in the classroom when sessions ended three hours ago, and if what’s bothering her would dissuade her from accepting another vicarious tea invite—but that would mean he’d have to admit to his own unlikely auspiciousness in face of it all and she already looked too worn to care. Still. He could tell, even from this distance, that she’d been crying, or something close to it.

“Did—something happen?” he asked.

“What does it matter? With all the poking around you do, I’m certain you have enough blackmail material on me as it is.”

Claude folded his arms and reminded himself not to take her tone so seriously; Dimitri had alluded to Edelgard’s rather poignant personality earlier in the semester. People who guard themselves that closely do so out of self-preservation. It’s nothing personal.

Sure as hell felt personal. “Okay, then I won’t make the mistake of being concerned for the Princess’ wellbeing.”

He appertained the resounding silence to the end of their miserable attempt at a conversation but neither of them moved to leave. Edelgard lowered her chin towards her chest in thought. Laughter and the low thrum of voices filled the courtyard outside, giving him a sense of being back home, the sound of it as bright and near as sunlight. Claude considered drawing her close to him so she might feel it too.

Finally she said, “Some days are harder than others. Especially after...”

What happened to those students. Carefully, he reached for her hand and replicated the moment they endured only yesterday, the splaying of her fingers over a shimmering spoon and his incidental misinterpretation of the ownership of silverware as it was arranged upon the table. When he took her fingertips in his palm he was surprised by her reciprocation and the subtle softening of her scowl into something blank, mendable.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was beneath me.”

The depressions under her eyes were made deeper and darker by the shadow cast upon her face, her back slanted away from the window. A stubborn fraction of light was lucky enough to fall across her left cheek. He wondered if she’d always been this beautiful.

“I don’t have blackmail, if that makes you feel any better.”

She said, with same casual tone she used to recommend a meal at dinner, “It won’t matter if you do.”

For the second time this week, but not in his lifetime, he became aware of the wrongness about her. More questions he needed answers to: Her denial to say things first. That shadow standing in her shadow. The unnamable tint of emotion in her eyes when he noticed once a scar on the underside of her wrist and made the irreversible decision to question its happenstance. Why those gloves seemed little more than an extension of her own flesh.

“I really did come to see you,” he admitted, treading over whether he should include the part where Ferdinand had been an octave too loud about Edelgard’s explicit gloom since Jeralt’s passing, and whether his tone just now was too dry, too wanting.

She offered nothing in repose. Instead she retracted her hand and turned to leave, and he heard himself ask, “Will you join me for tea tomorrow?”, not even dimly aware of why he sought her out so fervently that he could be persuaded by his own mind to find a fractional tidbit of disappointment in her absence, or in her hypothetical rejection. Despite her strangeness, or maybe in spite of it, he still wanted her near enough to know that if he spoke she was capable of withstanding it.

“Yes,” she answered finally. “I...I look forward to seeing you.”

She left him standing in a classroom that didn’t belong to him. He kept his head bent low, ducking his eyes away from the streams of old crepuscular sunlight falling upon everything around him and within him, turning all it touched red and gold.

[drosera-nepenthes]

The Human Side of Royalty

Her royal highness the Crown Princess of Saxony had a husband who did not understand her, and she had a French tutor for her children who is an idealist of the most pronounced type. So the Crown Princess and the idealist eloped. The lady may find herself Queen of Saxony at any moment, for her father-in-law, King George, is aged and ill. His son, her husband, Crown Prince Frederick, is thirty-seven, and she is thirty-two. They married “for love” about eleven years ago. There are several children, and the Crown Princess will again become a mother, it is anticipated in May. The French tutor with whom she ran away  is a Monsieur Giron, “divinely handsome,” and aged about twenty-three. He “admits paternity” of the sixth child.

The highest royalty in Europe is involved in the scandal for Crown Princess Louise Antoinette is the daughter of Ferdinand, formerly Grand Duke of Tuscany and now an archduke of Austria. Her mother was a princess of the house of Bourbon-Parma. For a long period of time past her relations with her husband, the Crown Prince, have been unhappy. The Sachsische Arbeiter Zeitung (Dresden), a Socialist paper, goes into the matter with particularity.

“The Crown Princess has long been dealt with as if she were a wicked child. She was given ladies-of-honor whom she detested, whose business it was to watch her. Even when she made trifling purchases, she had to give an account to some lady-of-honor. She confided her humiliation in the tutor of her children, Monsieur Giron, and thus an intimacy sprang up which developed during her husband's absence. The King, enlightened by the ladies-of-honour, dismissed Monsieur Giron and ordered the Crown Princess confined to her room. Her fate was to be settled when the Crown Prince returned. A family council decided that the Crown Princess must retire to a convent or a sanatorium pending an application for annulment of her marriage. The Crown Princess refused to submit, and fled to Salzburg. Her family persisted in the intention to imprison her. Then it was that she joined Monsieur Giron. Last November the Crown Princess visited a painter's studio and said to him in a tone of melancholy: “How I wish I had a villa like yours in which I could be alone!” To the painter's wife she complained of the tyranny of royal etiquette, which often forced her change her toilette six times a day.

The Viennese journals give many particulars concerning the personality of this original Crown Princess. She is “lively, petulant, at once gay and sentimental, and above all incapable of repressing the words she wants to say. Her Viennese blood was responsible for her unrestrained behavior, notwithstanding her rigorous Roman Catholic education, against which she was ever in rebellion. She once summarily dismissed a Jesuit father who had been appointed her religious preceptor. She was very fond of reading authors of advanced ideas.” She talked freely with all classes of people, and scandalized the court by her affability to persons of “low rank.” The Crown Prince was of a very different character – “a military man from head to foot.” As heir to the throne, he had conservative and old-fashioned ideas. His only diversion was the chase. The domestic atmosphere was not harmonious in consequence of all these circumstances. The brother of the Crown Princess, Archduke Leopold Ferdinand, took her part in divisions that ensued. When the lady fled, the Archduke fled likewise. We quote the London Standard:

“The Archduke Leopold Ferdinand, already mentioned, who is now thirty-four, has renounced his rights as a member of the the imperial family. He made the acquaintance of a lady of non-aristocratic birth some time ago, and proposed to conclude a morganatic marriage with her. The Emperor, however, forbade it, and the Archduke first went to a sanatorium at Bonn, on the Rhine, and afterward lived in Salzburg with his parents. A short time ago he took a step similar to that of 'Johann Orth.' He addressed a letter to the Emperor, in which he informed his Majesty that he renounced all his rights and privileges ; he sent back all his orders, and informed the Minister of War that he resigned his colonelship in the army. The Allgemeine hears that the Archduke will adopt the name of Leopold Wolfing, and that his wish to leave the imperial family has already been complied with. The paper expects the he will now marry the lady, whom he met at Munich when accompanying his sister on her flight. He is described as a man of very liberal, not to say radical, views, and a trifle eccentric.”

Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria is stunned by the proceedings of his young relatives. The Neue Freie Presse (Vienna), which is in a position to speak with authority of the imperial attitude, says in the course of an elaborate editorial article:

“There has occurred an even which is so extraordinary of its kind that the memory can be searched in vain to find its paralell. The Crown Princess Louise of Saxony has fled … if such a thing happened in an ordinary family, the matter would be kept secret and the true state of affairs would be concealed as long as possible. But here we have to do with the wife of a King's son who is heir to a throne. A crown princess has duties of a higher kind than an ordinary wife. The lofty height upon which she stands affords no shelter if she herself does not shrink from sensation, and in breaking the marriage bond she severs the courtly ties that make her one with the royal dynasty and the royal throne. But taste for a freedom incompatible with her station caused her to obey her heart's promptings in a manner that destroyed not only her wedded life but also the pride of place which invests woman when on a throne with a kind of halo … How amply protected behind the shield of courtly etiquette were once the heart romances of women connected with princely and royal houses! How openly such matters a now revealed in the broad light of day! Were we to describe the period in which we live in the light of its most typical characteristic, we could not overlook the promptings or rather the emancipation of royal hearts which now leads to such dramatic tragedies. Such is the irresistible passion-birth. We have all the elements of sentimental romance in these brilliant situations. The psychology of the well-born is not, of course, essentially different from that of the lowly. But with the lowly happiness is subject to less artificial restraints and the passion of the heart has more freedom in its assertion. The human in its most natural aspect has never been banished from royal palaces, but its range is narrower. The restraint put upon it is greater than in the case of ordinary human beings. But this state of affairs seems to be passing away.”

This development of the human side of royalty has proceeded so far, continues the Vienna organ, that the world has almost ceased to wonder at “mesalliances.” There seem to be no longer gulfs separating the children of royalty from the other children of men. But this escapade of the Crown Princess has gone further than anything of the sort even in this advanced age:

“So radical and unrestrained a rupture between passion and tradition has never been seen in a royal house. The Crown Princess Louise of Saxony is none the less subject to the spirit of our time because it was her destiny to wear a crown. She evidently renounced all to fly out into the world in pursuit of her heart's romance. Yet there is something in such a renunciation as hers that forbids either sympathy or surprise. The splendor of the crown will not be dimmed merely because one individual has proved unworthy to wear it. It is but a symptom of the struggle between the old ideas and the new. A woman is lost. Althou wife, mother, and destined to be Queen, she preferred the impulse of inclination to the promptings of royal pride. Down below, where 'free love' boasts its followers, such cases are not rare. On the heights of life examples are less frequent. No instance so flagrant as the present one has previously come to light.”

The one real scandal in the affair is the flight of the Crown Princess who abandons her five children at a time when she is awaiting a sixth, says the Journal des Débats (Paris). The case of her brother is on a different footing in the opinion of this paper. “Renouncing a royal crown that she need not have waited very long for, she fled from Saxony and again from Austria, her family's native soil, and rushed abroad to an unknown fate which must prove one of bitterness and sorrow. Had the fugitive Princess been guilty of this headstrong act merely as a result of incompatibility of temper that made life with her husband insupportable, her case would be serious enough. The lofty station of sovereigns and future sovereigns is counterbalanced by certain restraints of deportment and respectability from which ordinary mortals are exempt. But in the case before us we have features that add to its gravity. A preceptor in the service of a princely family seems to have taken advantage of the discord between husband and wife to make court to the royal princess so assiduously that he became the companion of her flight. This is the scandal, the gravity of which it would be idle to palliate. The utmost that can be done is to plead extenuating circumstances in favor of the Princess, who, Archduchess of Austria, Crown Princess of Saxony tho she be, was none the less a human being, and as such subject to impulse.”

From the dynastic and political point of view the episode should not have an great importance, thinks the Paris paper – which is suspected, by the way, of royalist leanings. True, it will supply the advanced press with an opportunity for attacks upon princely families and the wearers of crowns in general. “But there is reason to believe that any such campaign will not be prolonged and that it will have no appreciable results. It is an established fact that in Anglo-Saxon and German countries dynastic loyalty is proof against attacks which in other lands have been power as a result of unfortunate domestic events. No doubt the blow to the Saxon people will be a severe one. Last June they lost their aged King Albert, who was succeeded by his brother of seventy. All his hopes for the future were centered in the princely couple now so rudely severed.” The future of the family is a gloomy one, infers the French daily, which had not been apprised, when it thus commented, of the rumor that the Crown Prince may forgive his unfortunate wife and restore her to throne and home.

The Literary Digest, January 17, 1903

[msoogabooga]

Wasting Away (Tom Riddle x Reader)

Chp. I - A Sworn Enemy

Warnings- None

Word Count- 2146

Summary- You have singlehandedly decided that Tom Riddle is to be your sworn enemy until the end of time.

A/N- Hello! This is my first chaptered Tom Riddle fic. Hope you enjoy and tune in for more!

•••

Tom Riddle was the loneliest boy that had ever existed. You were certain of it whenever you witnessed him walk alone in the corridors or when he picked at his food in the great hall while everyone around him chattered amongst themselves, leaving him be. Ever so often you take a glance at his parchment paper in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he sits next to you, and you catch him writing lines of beauty. Words that flow together and create great works of art. That is until he catches you staring and covers his paper with his arm, not before cursing under his breath at you of course.

Oh yes, though you felt a sense of pity for the lonely boy, you swore to hate him until the day he died. It wasn’t always this way, of course. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to hate an innocent peer. In fact, you even thought to befriend him of course. The unforgivable day happened outside on the castle grounds. It had been raining quite heavily that day. You ran through the downpour of the storm as your house scarf floated behind you and your mary janes began to stain from the wet dirt. You had finally reached the shelter of an arched corridor and began drying yourself with your scarf. A sudden clatter startled you as you turned your head towards the direction of the noise. The black-haired Slytherin boy was crouched on the ground picking up a bundle of textbooks and parchment papers he had dropped. He began to grow more frustrated when he realized they had become soaked from the seeping rainwater that came through the window. With a pitiful frown, you rushed over to help him.

“Better the books than yourself,” You said with a smile, acknowledging your rained-out state as you began to pick up pieces of parchment. “The storm came so suddenly. I hardly had any time to rush to safety and, well, this happened. I was playing Quidditch you see. It was a bit cloudy, sure, but not even the greatest prophecies could’ve predicted this storm. You’re quite lucky, though. You don’t seem to have a drop on you, except on your schoolwork of course.” Tom Riddle snatches the parchment from your hands so fast that it leaves you with a papercut on your hand. You wince and take your hand back before shooting him a glare.

“Do you mock me?” He spat.

“I was just trying to help,” you explained with a grumble in your voice. “You didn’t have to be so harsh.”

“What makes you think you are allowed to talk to me?” Tom picks up the rest of his items and stands up. You stood up right after.

“Well excuse me all high and mighty. I didn’t know I needed to sign a prerequisite form before daring to stand in your presence. As I said, I was just trying to be of some assistance.”

“I never asked for any assistance. You’re making me seem pitiful.”

“Or maybe, get this, I was just trying to be nice!”

Tom scoffs. “Nice? Yeah, alright.” He makes a sharp turn and begins walking in the opposite direction of yours.

“What is wrong with you?” You shout. “I don’t even know who you are!”

Tom stops. He began walking towards you once more. You take a step back, unsure of what caused him to turn around. “Of course you don’t. I don’t expect you to. But I know everything I need to know about you. You’re the type of person to befriend a lonely kid because you feel it’s your moral obligation. Because you think that this will help boost your popularity points. Don’t think I don’t see right through you. I see the way your friends whisper and giggle at me in the corridors. You may not think I hear it but I do. So if you think you’re going to make a fool out of me for your own benefit then you’re clearly mistaken. So you can go back to your friends and tell them all about our interaction because I know you will. Now, goodbye.”

He walked away before you even had a chance to respond. You wanted to clarify. To say that you don’t approve of your friends gossiping. That you genuinely meant to help him out. But your saltiness took over and you only replied with, “AT LEAST I HAVE FRIENDS.”

You were unsure if he heard you or not because he had already disappeared from view. But you were satisfied. You knew who he was, obviously. That part was a lie. Tom Riddle was quite infamous for his knowledge in Defense Against the Dark Arts and is an acclaimed member of the Slug Club as well as yourself. You had even made eye contact with him a few times while you had dinner with Slughorn and the rest of the Slug Club. But you never expected this innocently kind looking boy to be so cruel at your act of kindness. You didn’t know much about him but you did know one thing: Tom Riddle was now your sworn enemy.

This is made extremely evident at his increasing side glare while you two sit together in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not by choice, of course. Assigned seating was never more painful than this moment right here. Still, the most you can do is glare back while everyone silently reads. You open your textbook as a way to distract yourself and flip to the unit you are currently on. Iguanas, iguanas, iguanas. Though you are puzzled as to how they were linked to dark magic, you took down notes anyway. You follow the pattern of dipping your quill in ink and writing line after line. All while you feel the hot glare of Tom’s eyes on the back of your neck. The bell signifying the end of class rings and you take a sigh of relief. Enthusiastically to get out of there, you begin gathering your materials, scooping your textbook in your arms all at once. Tom clears his throat quite obnoxiously enough to gain your attention.

“You miswrote something.” Tom states. You shoot him a dazzled look. “In your notes. I couldn’t help but look at your sorry excuse for parchment paper. It just reeked of misinformation. Sure enough, you wrote down that iguanas were omnivores when they are in fact herbivores.”

“Since when do you care so much about iguanas?” You ask, raising your eyebrow at him. “And why do you even care about what I write in the first place?”

“Well, one, I don’t. And two, I would just rather not be sitting next to the girl who got low marks on the iguanas exam. It would be quite embarrassing to witness.”

“Oh go suck an egg,” You retaliate. Tom Riddle scoffs and leaves without responding to your comment and your best friend, Wendy Slinkhard, replaces him.

You had met Wendy in the Slug Club. She was top of the Ravenclaw class, earning high marks that introduced her into the Slughorn's group. The first thing you noticed about her was the way her doe-eyes lit up every time someone mentioned writing. It was all she ever talked about. Her grand aspiration to become a famous author in the wizarding world. She had quite a euphonious voice when describing her life, casually mentioning the fact that she is indeed muggleborn and unafraid of any criticism. How her entire family is made up of writers and she is thrilled to follow the legacy. She had the most elegant way of describing things you had ever seen, almost like works of poetry roll off her tongue. When you ask how she comes up with these unique words she just responds with, The wizarding world seems to give a great muse to the imagination. Whatever that means, you are unsure, but it seems important enough.

“Well hello there,” Wendy says in her wispy voice. “Seems you have quite a charmer for a partner.” She looks over to Tom Riddle who has just left the room.

“Right.” You reply, getting ready to leave alongside Wendy. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard every time he speaks. I’m telling you, Wendy. You couldn’t bear sitting next to him for an hour.”

“Oh, I am sure of it. I’m not sure if I feel too keen about my partner as well. He is, to put it shortly, not quite attentive. Constantly asking me for notes or an extra quill, it’s quite annoying really! But overall, nothing compared to who you have to deal with. Tom Riddle. I always knew there was something off about that lad. Merlin knows why Professor Slughorn chose him of all pupils for the Slug Club.”

“Well he is exceptional at the Dark Arts, I’ll give him that. He has such a crude way of showing it as well. Constantly showing me up. Making me seem as inferior in knowledge as opposed to himself. A real nightmare.”

“Well, if it means anything to you, nothing good can ever come from being exceptional at the Dark Arts.” Wendy gives a slim smile and nods.

You and Wendy walk alongside each other on your way to your next class. Coincidentally, both of your classes are right next to each other. Though you really do miss having her in the same class. You speak to no one in History of Magic. You just sit alone with your face in your hands, hearing your professor go on and on about some troll war you don’t care too much about. Your quill picks up every once in a while to jot down scribbles of information. Something, something... Troll War. Not the most exciting subject if you were to be honest. But it sure beats suffering another hour with Tom Riddle constantly pointing out every minor flaw in your notes. Something about your professor’s voice sends you into a bit of a drowsy state. The way his words flowed so slowly and sterile. Slowly bringing you closer and closer into a…

“Wow. You look bloody awful.” You jolt awake at the sound of Dahlia Ferdinand looking down on you. She is dressed in her Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper and stands with arms crossed and a smirk spread across her face. You lift your head from the desk and detach a piece of parchment that had stuck on your face.

“How long has class been over?” You ask groggily.

“For about an hour, give or take.”

“She’s joking!” Wendy calls out, running into the room and standing beside Dahlia. She adjusts her giant red glasses and flattens her skirt. “Only a few minutes. No need to be so childish, Dahlia.”

“Oh come on. You never appreciate any of my jokes.”

“Dahlia, you know I hate your immature remarks. They are plain and unfunny.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes. “You must be real fun at parties.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been invited to one.”

“Don’t worry. We can tell.”

You let out a snicker before covering it up with a cough. Wendy, seeing right through you, shoots you a glare before adjusting her glasses once more.

“Speaking of parties…” Dahlia continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a green envelope. “Marcella Rosier invited me to the Slytherin common room party tomorrow night. From what I gather it’s going to be a grand event. Her uncle supposedly is bringing in firewhisky from Hog’s Head. Naturally, I expect you two to come with me.”

“Firewhisky, Dahlia?!” Wendy interjects before you can respond. “You know that is very much against the school rules. Not only that but against the law as well. And don’t even get me started on the policy of dorm-hopping in the middle of the night. I don’t even trust that Rosier girl to begin with. I’ve heard a load of terrible things involving her. Why are you even friends with such a person?”

“You know, Wendy, you sound like nails on a chalkboard sometimes. A simple no could do. What about you?” Dahlia responds, now addresses you.

“Oh,” You say suddenly. “Well if you’re going then I guess I’ll go as well.”

“So will I,” Wendy adds on, much to both you and Dahlia’s surprise. “Only to drag Dahlia out and scold her when she gets carried away with the firewhisky which I know she will.”

Wendy and Dahlia glare at each other and you cough. “I promise you, Wendy, that I will keep Dahlia outside range of the firewhisky.”

Wendy nods, satisfied. The three of you go your separate ways. You head straight to your dormitory, ignoring all work assigned for this weekend and your rude encounters with Tom Riddle. You raid your closet and begin the hunt for an acceptable outfit to wear to the biggest party of the semester.

[mittelfrank-divas]

Dance of the Black Heron chapter 4

In which lunchtime and whispers are had

Read on AO3

===

Hubert knew, the moment that he stepped into the dining hall, that something had changed. The air was charged with an energy that rippled among the students, sparking and crackling with mutters and whispers throughout the tables.

He automatically stepped closer to Edelgard as she wove between clusters of students and covertly tried to scan the room for any sign of danger. Hubert was paranoid about her safety at the best of times, and the tiniest atmospheric shift was enough to make him assume a threat was nearby.

Edelgard knew this. When he stepped so close to her that the front of his jacket brushed the back of hers, she automatically slowed her pace and shifted her stance so that he could remain there: a shadow just behind her left shoulder. It meant that any threat would be hard-pressed to separate them, that he was taking the place of the shield that she would carry only on the battlefield, that with hardly a moment's notice he could use the teleportation spell that he'd spent years honing in secret, and move her to safety.

It also meant that when they stopped at the back of the lineup to await their turn at the front counter, he could easily dip his head close to hers and mutter a few words in her ear.

"More eyes are on you than usual, I think." Hubert caught a few glances thrown their way even as he said it. Had some part of their plan been uncovered? The Flame Emperor had been busy as of late, and despite all of their efforts to distance Edelgard from that persona, there was no telling what infinitesimal detail they might have overlooked that would tip somebody off. Or was movement in the Empire starting to reach noble ears, raising questions about the future emperor?

Edelgard reached up to fix one of the ribbons in her hair so that she could easily turn her head to the side and survey the room. After a moment, her head bumped gently against Hubert's jaw. "I don't think it's me they're looking at."

"What do you--" a series of particularly loud giggles drew Hubert's attention to the door on the opposite side of the hall. A trio of students were clustered conspiratorially together. One of them -- Hilda Goneril, judging by the pink hair -- popped her head up and looked directly at him, grinning wickedly.

"Oh. Oh no." The way that Hubert's blood ran cold, one would think that being caught conspiring against the church would be a preferable alternative. At least heresy was a crime that Hubert could be <i>proud</i> of.

Edelgard stared blankly ahead, her voice just loud enough for Hubert to hear over the din of the hall. "It seems that word of our chosen candidate has spread quickly."

"It is not too late for me to poison today's meal," Hubert offered weakly.

"Far too late, I'm afraid. Half the students have already finished." From where Hubert stood behind her, he could see the corner of Edelgard's mouth twitch in amusement.

He endured the slow, meandering pace of the lunch line, sharply aware of every muttering voice, every tittering laugh echoing throughout the crowded hall, certain that each one of them was directed his way. It was some minutes before he realized that he was still pressed defensively close to Edelgard, as if the mere stares of other students qualified as a deadly threat. She had made no move to pull away either, as if sensing that perhaps this was now a matter of Hubert's own reassurance.

When they finally reached the front of the line, he blindly grabbed at the first plate he saw regardless of its contents and turned to march toward their usual table, only to be met with the sight of Ferdinand von Aegir engaged in a lively chat with the Gloucester heir. Hubert hardly understood how anybody could stand the pompous Leicester noble, but somehow Ferdinand's smile was bright as ever.

"Traitorous gossip," Hubert muttered.

"Not necessarily," Edelgard said, breezing past him to find a seat. "Let us gain confirmation that he is the source of our troubles before we contemplate our method of execution."

Even with the anxious fury brewing in Hubert's chest, he released a chuckle. "As you wish, Lady Edelgard."

There were no designated house tables in the dining hall, given that it was a space used by all Garreg Mach residents, students and knights and clergy alike. Meal times were one of the few regular occasions when the houses could mingle, and social butterflies like Ferdinand and Dorothea took full advantage of that.

It had come as some surprise, then, only a few days into the start of the school year, when some of the Black Eagles had started gravitating toward the distant corner that he and Edelgard always seated themselves in. It had been an unspoken assumption between the two of them, that their classmates would be relieved to be rid of their presence between class times. It was almost a certainty that the other students would not choose to prolong their time with the future emperor and her dreary attendant.

How shocking it had been, the first time Caspar dropped his tray next to Hubert and started shouting something about a fight he'd just come from before he'd even finished sitting down. When Linhardt drifted sleepily over soon after. When Petra excitedly pushed a book in front of Edelgard to tell her about her history reading. Once or twice Bernadetta even ventured into the dining hall in the quieter hours, and latched onto the two of them as a lone source of familiarity in the otherwise chaotic space. Even Dorothea and Ferdinand found time to join them.

It was seldom that all of them gathered at once. Black Eagles trickled in and out of their orbit, sometimes staying only long enough to steal something from each other's plates before fleeing, but it seemed to now be tradition for some of them to always be waiting in that same designated corner for Edelgard and Hubert.

Today they found Linhardt already napping there with his head on the table, while Caspar rapidly shovelled the remainder of both their lunches into his mouth.

"Hey!" Caspar shouted through a mouthful. "Is it true Hubert's planning to poison the other contestants?"

Edelgard primly took her seat across from Linhardt, leaving Hubert the unfortunate position of witnessing Caspar's open-mouth chewing at close range. "I don't recall any such plan," she said. "Where did you hear such a ghastly idea?"

Caspar paused long enough in his food-shovelling to swallow some of it. "Oh, I overheard Ingrid talking about it on the training grounds. I didn't know that sort of thing was allowed for dance competitions."

So that was both rival houses now aware of Hubert's entry into the competition. He glanced past Caspar's shoulder to see Dorothea with Ingrid and Sylvain. Surely his tutor was not responsible for this treachery -- no, not even with the slightly too loud giggle that rang out every time Ingrid said something. Dorothea's flirtations were as calculated as any strategist's. She would not so easily lose her head, no matter how pretty her enemy's face.

"I would very much like to know who has taken it upon themselves to reveal our plans to the entire academy," Hubert growled.

Caspar shrugged. "Not me. Does it really matter? Everyone would have found out eventually anyway, right?"

"I would have preferred..." Hubert fumbled for some reasonable way to finish that sentence. He would have preferred for it to be a secret that he carried to his grave, but that was hardly a logical position to state out loud. "A more tactical reveal," he finally stated.

A sound emanated from the depths of Linhardt's arms, inside of which his face was buried, that could have been mistaken for a snore if it were not followed up with words. "What sort of tactics did you have in mind? Were you planning on preserving your anonymity through the competition? Perhaps you could have turned out all the lights and had the judges witness your performance only by the sound of your feet?"

Hubert glared uselessly at the green mop of Linhardt's hair, knowing his ire was going unseen and unremarked. "I was not, but please inform me if you have any other ideas of this calibre."

"Regardless of whether this was the plan or not, we can make use of this." Edelgard's pale eyes had that sharp look to them as she watched the other students move about the hall. It was a look that told Hubert she was already formulating a plan, and therefore a look that eased his nerves considerably more than any attempts to comfort him would have.

"You believe so?"

She directed her attention down to her plate, letting her empty fork play close to her mouth so that it would be more difficult for others to read her lips. Edelgard took everything deadly seriously, including a school competition. Especially a school competition. "Our opponents believe your entry into this contest is a joke? Let them go on believing that. It is better to be underestimated, is it not?"

Hubert's frown remained where it was. This was not, evidently, a plan that involved fleeing Garreg Mach or locking himself in Abyss until the competition was over with. "That is true."

"Besides," Edelgard directed a proud smirk at him. "If the other houses want to believe that we must <i>cheat</i> to best them, then they are only revealing their own weaknesses."

Hubert found himself slightly disappointed to learn that cheating was an option that they would not be choosing to take. "Even so, I am concerned that our class is apparently incapable of keeping even so small a secret. Perhaps our professor can lead a lesson on discretion."

Edelgard perked up. "Ah, well we can ask them about that right now. Hello, my teacher."

Byleth drifted through the crush of students in the same calm, self-assured way that they did everything, taking their seat beside Caspar. "Hello. Ask about what?"

Linhardt shifted so that a single eye could be seen peering out from the dark crevice between his arms and his bangs. "Hubert thinks you might help him teach his way out of being the subject of salacious gossip."

Byleth blinked slowly at Linhardt while Hubert quietly stabbed at the roast pheasant on his plate, realizing too late the mistake he had made in blindly accepting the first dish he had spotted. It was smothered in tooth-achingly sweet berry reduction, making it fit only as the subject of his frustration. Edelgard came to the rescue. "What he means to say is that it seems the entire academy is already aware that Hubert is our candidate, and we are not sure who has revealed it to the other houses."

"Oh." Byleth nodded before scooping up a forkful of mashed turnip. "I did."

Hubert paused in eviscerating his lunch. "Ah. Betrayed by the very top. I should have predicted it."

Byleth tilted their head. "Should I not have? Professor Manuela said she needed to know."

Linhardt yawned. "Ah, out-maneuvered by the songstress. We should have seen that coming."

"My teacher," Edelgard said tactfully, "did you happen to ask her who the other contestants might be?"

Byleth regarded her. "Should I have?"

"It might help. After all, when devising a strategy, it is always best to know who your opponents are, is it not?"

"I suppose that is true," their professor answered calmly, without any hint of awareness that they were being gently chastised. "I will ask her next time I see her."

Edelgard sighed. "I suppose we'll have no choice but to wait for you to report back."

"No need," Dorothea chimed in, drifting into the conversation as if she had been there all along. She squatted down at the end of the table, elbows planting between Edelgard and Linhardt's plates and chin resting on her hands. "Sylvain is more than happy to brag to any girl within earshot that he's representing the Lions. To hear him tell of it, he's been a dancing prodigy since the moment he learned how to walk."

"And is he?" Edelgard prompted, never wasting an opportunity to gather intel.

Dorothea laughed, before she noticed the serious look on Edelgard's face. "Edie, bragging is just what Sylvain does. I don't think he's told a single true story about himself in his life. The guy is all charm and no substance, trust me. He might get a few points for his smile, but I doubt he'll bring much more than that."

"Then that is one advantage that the Blue Lions have over us," chimed in Linhardt's muffled voice. "Our candidate has a smile that could make the goddess herself weep."

"Truly, your gifts of observation are breathtaking as always," Hubert grumbled, knowing that it was hardly inaccurate. Sylvain Jose Gautier was the sort of person who oozed charm merely by existing. A single wink from that charismatic redhead could easily overshadow all other factors of a performance. A wink from Hubert would more likely be mistaken for a threat.

Edelgard's focus had not wavered from Dorothea's smiling face. The Empire's future ruler sensed a threat to their success, and Hubert knew by the way her lips pursed that she would not be satisfied until she saw a method of neutralizing that threat. "I want to be certain. Do you think you could gather more intel about his ability?"

Dorothea smiled indulgently back at her, tilting her head so that the long curls of her hair tumbled down her arms over the edge of the table. "Oh, Edie. Getting nobility to talk too much is what I do."

It was remarkable how Edelgard softened in the face of that smile. Hubert had so rarely seen her gain reassurance from anybody other than himself. He once again felt a swell of gratitude toward Dorothea. "Alright," Edelgard conceded. "I will trust in your abilities on that front."

"Then that deals with the more straightforward of our opposition," muttered Hubert.

Caspar paused in his eager consumption of his third lunch (Hubert's). "How is any of that straightforward?"

Edelgard did not even need to check with Hubert before answering. She knew his thought process well. "Because the Blue Lions are the most straightforward of the classes. They approach every threat exactly the same way: directly and forcefully. Once we know their candidate's skill and style, they will become a predictable foe. The same cannot be said for the Golden Deer."

"Claude von Riegen does nothing without some scheme," Hubert muttered. The thought suddenly occurred to him that perhaps all these rumors about his own plans to do harm to the judges or other contestants might be intentionally helped along by somebody who would benefit from them. How easy would it be for Claude to slip something into Sylvain's drink the day of the competition and watch as all eyes turned to Hubert when the poison became apparent?

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an unmistakable voice thundering above the din. "Oh yes, it is quite thrilling. I've not seen the school this fired up since the mock battle. Of course, were I our class's representative..." Ferdinand, having apparently gotten his fill of treasonous gossip, was nearing their table with Petra. How she tolerated his bluster was a mystery to Hubert.

"Well you're not, Ferdie, so you can stop complaining about that any day now." Dorothea had perched herself on the corner of the table next to Linhardt's head, thus fully designating the area as unfit for food consumption at this time. Linhardt made no complaint of this, taking the opportunity to treat Dorothea's hip as an additional pillow.

Ferdinand frowned at her as he claimed a seat beside the Professor. In an act of small mercies, this meant that Petra moved to sit beside Hubert instead. "I was only going to say that I would have chosen to announce my candidacy immediately. Is it not something to be proud of?" He fixed Hubert with a gleaming smile that made Hubert contemplate how far into the depths of Abyss he would need to fall to escape it. "You must be excited by it, surely."

Hubert found himself wishing that he had not sacrificed his plate to Caspar's appetite so that he would have some excuse to look anywhere other than that dazzling expression. "My excitement knows no limits."

"Ferdinand," Edelgard leaned toward him. "You're friendly with the Gloucester boy, aren't you? What have you learned about the Golden Deer's plans?"

Ferdinand's chest immediately swelled with pride. "How right of you to value my insights into this matter. Why of course Lorenz would have been a prime candidate for this contest, but he tells me he humbly declined the offer to represent his house. Worry not, for you shall have a worthy opponent, Hubert. The Golden Deer are putting forth Miss Marianne von Edmund to represent them."

Blank expressions and quietly exchanged looks were all that met Ferdinand's announcement. Caspar finally voiced what much of the table must have been thinking: "Which one's that again?"

"Daughter of Margrave Edmond, correct?" Edelgard looked to Hubert for confirmation, though his returned nod was unnecessary. The two of them had poured over class lists in the weeks leading up to their arrival at Garreg Mach, gathering all the intel they could about their future classmates. Margrave Edmond was well known, but his daughter remained all but a mystery, even now. Hubert had investigated her, found only a shy creature who hardly spoke, and passed her over as likely a harmless noblewoman with little interest in political affairs. Now he cursed himself for not considering her possible importance sooner.

"Oh," Linhardt finally deigned to lift his head from the table. "The one without a crest. Allegedly." There was a glimmer in his eye that Hubert recognized as scholarly fervor, and he wondered if Linhardt would be sleeping through tomorrow's class after once again losing himself in an all-night study session. "A very interesting girl, that one."

"For once, possessing a crest or not is not relevant to this competition," Edelgard said crisply, heading off whatever new theory was bubbling in Linhardt's mind. "Ferdinand, do you know anything about the Edmond girl? Will she pose a significant threat?"

Ferdinand beamed again at the attention. Two questions from Edelgard in a row must have been the highlight of his day, Hubert mused. How exciting for him to be able to show off in front of his imagined rival. "I admit that I do not know her well. She keeps to herself quite a bit. But you will not find a more gentle soul. I suspect that she has quite a bit of talent hidden away."

"Rather unlike Von Riegan to choose someone so reticent." Hubert found himself frowning. "What game is he playing?"

"Why should he be playing a game?" Petra asked. "Perhaps he is choosing for skill."

"Perhaps so," he admitted, not at all convinced. Hubert thought that he should have been reassured to have his opponents' names in his arsenal now. No battle was won without intel, after all. But somehow the knowledge made the competition more than just some distant, theoretical goal. There were other people involved now. People who would bear witness to whatever foolish performance he presented.

The noise and the imagined stares of the crowded hall suddenly became too much. Hubert stood. "It seems that I have little time to dally here. By your leave, Lady Edelgard."

She met his eyes, frowning at him in concern. Whatever the source of that concern was, however, he knew she could be relied upon not to expose it in front of others. "Of course," she simply said, dismissing him.

Hubert gave her a brief, grateful bow before making for the hall's rear exit, out into the courtyard gardens. A few students milled about in the bright afternoon sunshine, but they paid Hubert little mind as he attempted to duck into the shadows.

"Hubert, wait!"

It was a rare occasion when Hubert cursed his height. Were he Lady Edelgard, he could simply slip between the hedges and vanish with dignity. Unfortunately, there would be no escaping the sound of Ferdinand von Aegir calling his name unless he wished to dive fully behind the shrubbery, a plan that he was not certain he should discard just yet. Ferdinand was jogging across the grass with a brightly triumphant expression that told Hubert that he would be better off picking leaves out of his hair than listening to whatever came next.

"Listen!" Ferdinand came to a halt before Hubert, and he had the nerve to hardly even sound winded by the effort that it had taken him to catch up. "There's more that I've learned about what to anticipate at the competition. Lorenz learned from Professor Manuela that participants may choose the style of dance they utilize, but the judges traditionally favor the waltz. Though this year one of the previous judges has been replaced by the knight Shamir, so her tastes may be a little more--"

"Ferdinand," Hubert interrupted what was clearly going to become a long lecture. "Is there a reason that you are here to tell me all of this?"

Ferdinand's smile persisted, brighter than the horrid midday sun overhead. "Why, I am helping you assess the competition, of course! We must utilize all the tools we have at our disposal if we are to triumph. Besides, a noble like me would never stand idly by without lending my expertise. Now, if you haven't yet chosen a style, I suggest..."

"Oh, I see now," Hubert interjected, his voice turning low and silky. "Yes, how foolish of me not to predict that your bruised ego would be in need of salve. You think that by meddling, you might be able to claim some of the Black Eagle's victory for yourself."

Few things brought Hubert satisfaction like the shade of red that crept into Ferdinand's face, lighting up his freckles like embers, whenever Hubert managed to find the limits of his temper. It made the redhead look less like a fiery sun god and more like a furious Mortifs plum. "Excuse me? I am merely trying to help you! It is my duty as your classmate to lend you my support."

Hubert snorted. "How very altruistic. Offering your services to me? That is positively <i>noble</i> of you." Where before Hubert was hoping to flee from the sight of Ferdinand, now he closed the gap between them. As though the grassy field were a ballroom, and the sounds of chatter drifting out of the dining hall overlaid with an orchestra. If he wished, he could have taken Ferdinand by the waist and led him in a waltz to that unheard music.

Ferdinand watched him in confusion, hesitating between his anger and this odd reversal on Hubert's part.

"Careful," Hubert said lowly. "If I am indeed the victor, I may be forced to dance in your vicinity."

"Why, I believe that is the point!" Ferdinand replied, his voice beginning to bolster once again. "You should be proud of your victory, and we as a class will share in your triumph."

"Is that so? You, Ferdinand von Aegir, would be seen dancing with one such as myself?"

Somehow, the redhead's smile did not waver. "Of course! Any would be honoured to join you in a dance, Hubert."

"Ah, I see." Hubert smiled as he moved in for the kill, tilting his head ever so slightly to whisper into Ferdinand's ear. "And now I know what lies you would stoop to, Ferdinand. We both know you would not endure being seen with a skittering cockroach such as myself."

And there, Ferdinand's face once again changed color before Hubert's eyes. Rather than the dark red flush of anger, the color instead rushed from his face, leaving him pale and stammering. "I… I would never…"

"Never say such things?" Hubert chuckled. "How amusing. The prime minister's son needs to work on his delivery, I think. The lie seems to be sticking in your throat." With a final smirk, Hubert left him there in the sunny courtyard, triumphant that he had finally stunned Ferdinand into silence.

It was not until he was nearly across the monastery grounds that Hubert finally realized that he had one other source of motivation to succeed at this contest. Something other than wanting to fulfil his duty to Lady Edelgard and to his house, other than the need to become whatever was necessary for their success. He wanted to prove that arrogant noble wrong. He wanted Ferdinand von Aegir to witness his victory on that stage.

[trashficdumpster]

For the Future (Ch1.2,1.3 Sample)

Byleth’s body burned from exertion. Parrying Ferdinand’s rapier had gotten too tiring, and so she focused on evading his blade, looking for an opening. After avoiding a pointed thrust, Byleth decided to make her move. She feinted, making like she was going to strike at his head. Instinctively, she reached deep inside herself, searching for a well of strength that would let her move faster than most people could react.

Ferdinand saw through it.

In a flash, his counterattack had the cloth-covered tip of his weapon at her throat. Byleth conceded defeat, and the noblest of nobles backed down with a salute. They placed their swords back on the weapon rack and sat down on a sturdy wooden bench.

“Here,” Ferdinand handed her a water skin before procuring one for himself. After a long gulp, he smiled brilliantly. “Nothing like a friendly duel in the morning. I find it quite invigorating.”

Byleth nodded. “You’ve gotten better.”

“You are too kind. Once you are fully recovered, I am sure you will trounce me as always,” he faltered, the tiniest wiggle in the curve of his smile. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

Six months had gone by in the blink of an eye, but they had also dragged on for many eternities over. Waking up with a heartbeat, no Crest, and no Sothis had turned Byleth’s world on its head. It had taken over a month alone for her to hold a sword again. No physician could find anything wrong with her, but she’d felt as weak as a newborn child. Even now, her limbs were heavy.

“I’m beginning to think that I won’t ever feel the same as before.” Byleth finally said. “But I think this is what it feels like to be completely human. Maybe this is what you’ll feel like when you get your Crest removed.” She didn’t miss how the Prime Minister’s throat bobbed.

“I see. I hope you are reporting your progress to Linhardt and Professor Hanneman. We will need to warn everyone about these side effects.” Ferdinand rose and offered her a hand. “In any case, you must not overexert yourself.”

“Right.”

______________________________________________________________________

After parting ways with Ferdinand, Byleth decided she needed a bath. It was still strange to her that she needed servants to draw it for her, but she had to admit that they were very good at what they did. The moment she stepped foot in the imperial quarters, the chambermaids went to work. They’d even sprinkled some healing salts in the water — the kind that physicians often recommended to soldiers and the elderly to ease aches and pains.

As she soaked, Byleth couldn’t help but think of how easily she’d been bested. Years of experience with nearly every weapon under the sun should have lended her the upper hand, even without the power of a Crest. Not only that, but Ferdinand favored the lance; he dueled for sport, and he often proclaimed that he hoped he would never need to use his sidearm in combat.

Byleth opened and closed her fists. So feeble. Before, she’d never felt strong. It wasn’t as though she’d relied on her Crest for menial tasks, like chopping firewood or carrying buckets of water up hills to camp.  

She should be relieved. This was the world Edelgard hoped to create. Every Crest-bearer in the Black Eagle house — even the students from the Blue Lions that had joined their cause — had agreed to submit to a Crest-removing procedure once it was developed. Then, all the Relics would be destroyed…once the procedure for that was discovered. Of course, all of this would be done after Those Who Slither in the Dark were defeated. As for the rest of the nobility, Edelgard was preparing a formal address detailing her plans to strip them of their Relics, regardless if their Crest-bearing kin agreed to the Crest removal operation. That way, at least, no one would be able to use the Relics to oppress the common folk.

Thinking of Relics caused Byleth’s thoughts to drift to Sothis. Knowing the truth of the Relics’ origins, Byleth couldn’t fathom what it was like for the progenitor goddess to witness her spinal column being used as a sword and a whip, taking life without discrimination. She thought of the Sword of the Creator, reduced to its inert state, locked in a chest in a small alcove of their quarters along with Amyr. While it was no longer a weapon that could level battlefields, it was still sharp, and lighter and stronger than a longsword despite its massive size. It had been the first sword she’d been able to hold up after waking.  

Though she knew she would receive no answer, Byleth muttered her apology. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need your strength for a little while longer.”

[pheita]

Flash Fic Friday: Yonder Hills

Ok, it's a hot minute since I finished this @flashfictionfridayofficial so here we are. Again a little snippet of my strange wlw romance WIP "Tricky Love" Tagging @mantabanter @incandescent-creativity

Have fun

For minutes I tried to rummage in my memory for when I had seen Rose grinning like that. It was that wide grin of anticipation, and I feared I'd never seen her like that. Her natural red curls bobbed along with every movement. "You're going to love it," she promised with a giggle in her voice. It was kind of cute to see her like this, even if the number of facets this woman had was starting to make me dizzy and I had a hard time to keep count. "Where are we going? Can you at least tell me?" A rough idea of where she was taking me would have been enough, after all. Sometimes Rose loved secrets far too much. So I had no choice but to go along and wait. I was sure she wouldn't put me in danger, which was strange considering she was a criminal wanted by the government. Somehow, nothing had been normal since I met her. "You'll see in a minute. Don't worry, it's not far." "Why is that exactly what I'm worried about?" "Because you're getting paranoid?" laughed Rose, grinning at me with her eyes closed. I always thought only anime characters did that, but this was just then proving me wrong. The only thing I could say was the obvious observation that we were still very close to her business. "Paranoid? Hmm, who do you think is to blame for that?" I put my index finger to my lips and looked up at the sky as if I really needed to think. Rose just nudged me with her hip. "Very funny." "I think so, too." Inevitably, I had to grin. "But seriously," Rose explained a little more seriously, "you really are getting a little overcautious." "Am I?" If Rose said that, there must have been something to it, even if I hadn't noticed. I'd glanced to the side for a moment, but when I looked back at her, the corners of her mouth were twitching suspiciously again. "You will, but that's normal. Hopefully it'll go away." "Tell me, are you channelling Rodney or what's going on with you today?" "I'm just in a good mood."

She shrugged and did a little hop. Her good mood was a little scary and I seriously hoped I'd never witness her and Rodney being like that, that would be the end of a lot of people, and I wasn't keen on witnessing the metaphorical murder of business clients. Abruptly, she stopped and pulled me into a small side alley. Before I knew what was happening, she was pressing the buttons on a drink machine in a strange sequence. The surprised cry on my part was certainly not so good when the drink machine moved and cleared a small passage. Rose made a welcoming gesture. "Welcome to Yonder Hills." "What?" "I'll explain in a minute." Cautiously, I stepped into the twilight of the passage and took a few steps. You heard Rose step into the passage behind me, and right after that, the drink machine moved in front of it again. For a second we stood in the dark, when suddenly the light came on. Rose exhaled in relief. "They fixed it. Wonderful!" "Who, what?" "One more minute." The grin took on something slightly strained, and it didn't reassure me one bit. Rose nudged me to keep walking. How long we walked I could poorly guess, but it wasn't long. The hum of the old neon lights accompanied us until we arrived at a bunker door. "A bunker?", I asked over my shoulder. "More than that," Rose spoke, pushing past me, "Over the yonder hills is above below and below above, law is dark and justice shines brightly from the highest point." Now finally confused, I looked at her questioningly. She nodded to the door, which opened with a squeak. A young man with a winning smile and wavy short black hair opened it for us. "Welcome home, boss. And I see you finally brought your girl." "Shut up, Ferdinand, and let us through." The eye-roll from Rose was epic and something I'd only seen in the context of Rodney. "Just as you command, boss." Ferdinand stepped aside and I could finally see inside. It wasn't a bunker, but it was clearly in the basement of the building, the way the windows were placed. There were computers, workbenches, and bits and pieces of whatever were lying around in various corners. "What is this?", I asked into the room. "Yonder Hills, the main headquarters of Midnight Rose." Somewhere deep in the room to my left came the answer. Looking there, I found a young woman with distinctly East Asian roots and bright green hair. "Natsuki, this is Audrey. Audrey, Natsuki, our tech and life insurance when we're out there. You've already met Ferdinand. He's..." "Connoisseur of fine things, entirely at your service," Ferdinand took over and took my hand to press a kiss on it. "You never said you had a whole team." I definitely sounded poutier than I wanted to. "Did you think Rodney and I could handle this all by ourselves?" Again, Rose laughed. When she put it that way, it made sense. There were too many specialties at once for just two people. Embarrassed, I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "Now that you mention it." "Oh my goodness, you're adorable." The new voice was unidentifiable from where it came, but it too was female. "Tanisha, don't scare her like that. Come out of your corner for a minute," Rose called, looking up. "Five minutes, boss. I'm on something right now. Leanne will be right back with the others, too, so we can do this properly." Did I need to say I was a little overwhelmed? I don't think so. Lost, I stood there and could only try to get my head around it all.

[omgkalyppso]

Number 4 for the romance lyric prompt for any variation of the ot4!

4. ‘Cause girls like you run 'round with guys like me 'til sun down.

The lyric is from Girls Like You by Maroon 5 (idk how obvious this is without me saying it), and was added to the playlist specifically for Claude x Hilda though a lot of the lyrics have to be taken at face value because it could be interpret extremely negatively, though not that line, and not my intent. I'll try writing a few words of the stage-production au.

I didn't read over this when I finished.

Here's the first post of the stage-production au: [HERE]

Most of the cast were gone for the day, though the actors who had agreed to go out afterwards had lounged in the audience. Dimitri and Edelgard stood on opposite step ladders, as crewmen held them in place, going over the lines of their final battle with a choreographer and the director.

Dimitri would be atop a large dragon puppet someday, and Edelgard would be in her Hegemon construction, but for now, they were in t-shirts and jeans and trying their best to imagine what the final product might look like.

Hubert and Dedue stood by their sides, and had stopped crouching after the fourth recitation of their lines. By now had been brought chairs to sit upon, from which they each spoke their one line, to be shouted in production, as they supported the song shared by The Rightful King and The Flame Emperor in their epic moment.

From the orchestral pit, the production's vocal coach, Yuri, played an upright piano to guide their tune and tempo.

Hilda sat between Claude and Ferdinand in the audience. Each man whispering along with the song with a bounce of his head while she sunk into her seat, amused, and embarrassed by the prospect of joining them.

It was the most genial cast Hilda had ever worked with, and when Ferdinand, Edelgard, Manuela, Seteth and Lorenz had spoken of not drinking for seven weeks before a show, the bulk of the cast had agreed to go sober for the duration; though when they'd spoken of different dietary restrictions in the week leading up to production, there'd been very little consensus. Regardless, tonight would be the last hurrah for those who drank, as Hilda didn't anyway, and they were waiting to take their friends out for the night.

It was still relatively early as far as nights went, barely seven o'clock, but that was still late enough that people were missing dinner. Hilda could hear the crinkling of a paper bag from behind her, where Mercedes and Dorothea snacked on sweet and sour chicken balls.

After three more runs of the scene, Sweetpea, their stoic mint-haired director, declared, "I think that's it." They did their best to turn to address the rest of their team, in the wings and in the audience. "I'll see most of you in four days when we join Yuri for a, hopefully less chaotic, rendition of The Storm of Myrddin. Great work."

Hilda whistled loudly in support of her castmates, while her friends applauded and hollered. Dimitri bowed to their audience, and Hubert bowed to Edelgard who rolled her eyes and laughed as she exaggerated with one hand thrown skyward as she and Dimitri made their way down their respective stepladders.

"Thank you, Yuri," called Edelgard.

"Yes, thank you, Yuri," Dimitri agreed.

"We'll practice those low notes next time," Yuri answered, before waving up out of the pit to soften his implied criticisms. "You're welcome! We're getting there. There's a lot of range to cover."

Dimitri was still insecure by the time he joined his castmates in the aisles as they marched to the exit, "Did it sound that bad?"

"No," Claude snickered.

"It's Yuri's job to strive for perfection," Dedue observed.

Hilda held her hand in front of her lips for a moment, considering her contribution. Once they were outside, she jut her elbow into Dimitri's stomach so he grunted in surprise, stumbling back into Felix.

"Eugh!"

"Hey, watch it!"

Hilda shrugged. "Just remember that sensation?"

"Don't be mean," Sylvain exaggerated with a whine, giving Dimitri his sweater he'd been holding onto.

"No, I—" Dimitri tried to mimic the same position his mouth had been in, tongue drooping forward in his mouth as he sought the pitch of his exclamation.

"You broke him," Hubert declared, his brow furrowed, at the same time that Claude, Edelgard and Dedue were following Dimitri's example and carrying a deep monotonous tone.

Edelgard even turned it into a line that Yuri had probably been concerned with, that she would sing below The Rightful King's pleas, "So that none will suffer I must forfend—"

Dorothea answered her with The Rightful King's following line, "Living and dead, I will not forget those whom I defend."

"We're not doing that," Felix said, flat.

"Right," Annette agreed, which seemed to surprise him. "Resting voices."

"Resting voices," several people echoed.

.

They followed Dedue to a Duscur place for dinner, and wolfed down their wraps as they waited in line at a club that might be large enough to accommodate their large group.

"You didn't bring your date?" Lorenz asked Felix.

"We're not dating," Felix said, as if on instinct. He thought a moment. "Wasn't this just for cast?"

Lorenz shared a frown with Hilda before he assured Felix, "I doubt anyone would have complained even if you'd brought someone unrelated to the production. We'd have been happy to—"

"Don't listen to him," Claude said, turning from Leonie so he could wrap an arm around Lorenz. "Or I mean, do, because you could have brought anyone you'd wanted, but also don't because Lorenz just chickened out of asking the other make up artist to join us and hoped they'd have tagged along with Mia."

Felix snorted.

"That's not what happened," Lorenz objected.

"Oh, sweetie," Hilda contributed with a pout. "That's exactly what happened."

"We just got to talking, and I got distracted," Lorenz contributed.

"You forgot?" Felix asked, aghast. Hilda brought her hands to her lips, failing to hide her amusement.

"It didn't come up," Lorenz countered.

"That's not better," Claude said, shaking his head. Lorenz shrugged him off and flicked his chest with all four fingers.

"Fat lot of good friends like you are."

.

The second floor of the club was open to the elements, archways acting as windows to the brisk wind of evening, and the bright shine of sunset. The breeze and drinks were welcome, Mercedes, Dorothea and Hilda taking turns sitting with their pitchers, yellow with alcohol and pink without, to protect them just in case.

Hilda found herself distracted throughout the night, watching Claude as he dipped Lorenz, and nearly dropped Dimitri, and joined Dorothea in a samba that she and Annette were soundly better at.

They danced together only twice, the first time early in the evening before the dancers and the night had hit their stride, when there was more laughter and embarrassment in their fun than indulgence. The second time had been later in the evening, when he was flush and tipsy, to a ballad that had them swaying slowly with his hand politely between her shoulders. She'd thought about stepping closer into his space, resting her head on his chest, facing the brunt of his sweat and his cologne, but hesitated — partially because of their working relationship, but mostly because Sylvain and Mercedes had whistled about the way Hubert had held the small of Edelgard's back and she'd stretched back in a smooth, flowing dip.

It was maybe an hour later that Claude found Hilda seated at a table by a south-facing archway, the dim red of the western horizon a memory of the now fallen sun, the deep blue to the east twinkling with a few visible stars over a small lake and parkland.

"You having a good time?" Claude seemed more sober now than earlier, unlike some of their friends, and Hilda smiled softly, glad of his attention.

She nodded and ran her fingers under her eyes. "Just tired. Worked early before practice, and will again tomorrow."

"I'm glad you made it," Claude said sweetly, and Hilda rolled her eyes as she sucked on a straw from a cup that was mostly ice.

"No one would have missed me," she contributed, her gaze darting to where most of their colleagues were gathered, some of their friendships spanning years and others only as long as auditions, but generally they seemed to feel closer to each other than she really felt to them. So far, anyway.

She felt slower at forming these deep friendships that others seemed instinctually born with. She wondered if she'd know any of these people long enough for that to matter.

"I just said I would've," Claude insisted, crossing his arms as he leaned into the table. His hair was wilting around his face, framing thick eyebrows and dark lashes that half-hid his green eyes. He needed to curl them, Hilda thought idly.

She blushed and pushed at the ice in her glass with her straw. "You just owed me a few drinks for improvising with you in your audition."

Claude chuckled and hid his smile in his elbow for a moment. "That was kind of you," he allowed. He looked at her directly, and promised, "But it's not just that."

"No?" she peeped, half teasing, waiting on the joke or the reveal.

"No," he said at a whisper. "Would you want to come over to my place on one of our free nights? I could make you dinner? We could just run lines, or...?"

"Or?"

Claude blushed and they both snickered softly. He shifted back and forth against the table, forcing himself to sit up, running a hand over his chin, clean shaven for his part in their production.

"Or whatever you like."

His smile widened as she considered it, and she wondered if it was because he wasn't facing instinctual rejection or because he could tell that she was interested. When she nodded, his shoulders fell, as if suddenly relaxed. A lot of people had rules about not dating people they worked with, the risk of rejection and the pain of a breakup always had a chance of hurting a production, but she could see the value of taking a few moments of flattery too far. Even if Claude tucked his heart away from something more, even if they only ran lines, she was looking forward to it.

[josefavomjaaga]

Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 3, Part 2

(We left Murat claiming to British visitors that he, despite wanting Napoleon to drive the Bourbons out of France, was still totally in the Alies' camp.)

In spite of these assurances, everyone now knew very well what to expect from his side. Moreover, the facts were in stark contradiction with his words. All kinds of armaments were brought to completion with restless haste, throughout the kingdom the press of sailors was ordered to man the vessels; the royal guards, all troops were ordered to be ready to march; his aides-de-camp were constantly on the move in this or that direction. A year earlier Joachim had already begun to give the civil militia a better establishment, this was now continued most assiduously. The capital also received a military guardia di sicurezza, six battalions on foot and an escadron; property and the intelligentsia formed the elements drawn to their service: the wealthy privateers, merchants and tradesmen, professors, civil servants of all grades; a special medal of merit with the motto: "Onore e fedeltà" was created to stimulate their zeal. Ever since the world peace had been concluded, and with explicit reference to this change, Joachim had also tried to create a Sicilian regiment, Neapolitans who had followed Ferdinand IV to the island, but for whom there was now, as Murat thought, no longer any reason to stay abroad; but the influx was very small, the intended regiment never came into being. Among the officers' corps, a very dangerous increase consisted of many Lombards and Romagnoles who had formerly served in the army of the Kingdom of Italy and who, according to the custom of such fugitives from the country, had their mouths full of lofty words, pushed for an immediate upsurge in arms, which would be met with the most brilliant successes: old comrades would flock to them from all parts of Italy, hundreds, thousands of them armed and uniformed, gladly joining the King's army.

These military precautions went hand in hand with some personnel changes in the upper circles of government. The Minister of Finance, Mosbourg, a Frenchman by birth, asked for and received his dismissal - he had made his penny dry and did not want to expose it again to all the storms and rigours of the weather; he became Secretary of State in place of Prince Pignatelli-Cerchiara, who took over the vice-presidency of the Council of State from Cianciulli. The portfolio of finances was given to Baron Nolli, who had to begin his office with the most hateful measures: the merchant class was hit with a compulsory loan of 2 million francs; all the coffers, not excluding those of the hospitals and charitable foundations, were emptied to the last penny. Maghella was once again put in charge of the police; General Manhès became the governor of the capital, two personalities whose very names were disgusting to the people.

The author here in a footnote quotes Mier from a letter of 12 March: "Ces deux individus jouissent de la plus mauvaise réputation et sont détestés comme étrangers".

Under these circumstances, Mier's position in Naples became a very unpleasant one, and he urgently begged Prince Metternich "not to forget him". In the face of Joachim's assertion and that of his organs, in particular the government newspaper, maintaining that the King was in full harmony with Austria, that his policy was also that of Austria, Mier took every opportunity to loudly contradict this: "Austria is rather resolutely opposed to having the peace of Italy disturbed; the King, by pursuing his warlike desires and a delusion of greatness, will drag himself and his own to ruin". He sent a confidential letter to the queen, imploring her to do everything in her power to prevent her husband from making a hasty decision. He had discussions with Gallo, to whom he gave his unreserved opinion and drew his attention to the fact that the first step taken by a Neapolitan soldier across the demarcation line agreed on 28 April at Bologna would have the immediate consequence of breaking the Austrian alliance.

As early as the 12th of March it was said that the King would leave for the army, Mosbourg and Zurlo with him, Gallo and Macdonald to follow, and the Duke of Carignano to conduct foreign affairs in the meantime. The Princess of Wales, on hearing this decision, had offered to precede the King to Ancona; but he had sent her his regrets through the Duke of Roccaromana that he would not be able to receive her there, whereupon she angrily departed that very morning for Civita Vecchia, and from thence to Genoa. But the king's departure did not come to pass for the time being. Once again, doubts had intervened: repeated and strong hints from the Austrian envoy, requests and ideas from the queen, insistent advice from serious men who were in Joachim's confidence [footnote see below, as somewhat longer]. For a moment it had seemed as if everything was to be reversed, regiments that were about to march had been ordered to halt, others had even said that they would be recalled from the Marches.

Then new favourable news arrived of Napoleon's advance in France - from the evening of 10 March, when he entered Lyon, which might have been reported in Naples on the 15th - and now there was no more rest and no more peace for Joachim. He hastily summoned the Council of State, which was attended by the Queen, all the ministers, and the top generals, not to hear the opinion of those present, but to win them over to his own, which he did with all the grandiloquent exuberance of a Gascogner: 8,000 of his own troops, 14 battalions of provincial militia, civic militia without number; in addition, appeals from all parts of the peninsula, here a letter speaking of 12 regiments in readiness, of 12,000 shotguns in stock, there a letter with the promise of four fully equipped regiments, another promising the whole mass of the disbanded Italian army. The majority of those assembled listened to these reckless reports in incredulous distrust; with regret they saw the King's self-deception, and urgently advised against a hasty step: "one should rather await the answers from Vienna and London, the last success of Napoleon's enterprise, the resolutions of the Congress of Vienna on this unexpected change of affairs". Joachim suspended the meeting without passing a resolution that he did not like, sent Count Beaufremont to France with the declaration that the Emperor could count on his services, and let the Roman Court know through Cardinal Fesch that he regarded Napoleon's cause as his own and soon intended to prove to the world that it had never been alien to him.

On the evening of March 15, the Austrian envoy had a conversation with the Duca di Gallo, the contents of which left no further doubt. Joachim's minister complained about the obvious cooling in Austrian sympathies; about the neglect of his monarch's interests on the part of the Viennese Cabinet; about the small amount of effort the Cabinet had made to obtain the king's recognition from the other powers; about the humiliating way in which the king's ministers and other trusted individuals sent there by him were treated in Vienna. "The Congress will come to an end," Gallo concluded, "and Austria will not have fulfilled the promise she made to us. From this we can conclude no other than that she will abandon us in an extreme case, from which it further follows that the King must seek assistance where it is offered and resort to those means which he can hope will help him to his goal...". The next day, Mier appeared before the queen, who, as she complained to him, had been brought completely down by her sorrow, as well as by the continual quarrelling and disputes. "The King thinks," she said, "that Napoleon's successes will help to keep him on the throne. You know my opinion on this point. I will not cease to advise him that if the Vienna Cabinet should decide to oppose Napoleon, there is nothing left for him but to join Austria and follow her system and policy. You see, I am sacrificing my personal feelings and the agony of seeing my family persecuted, covered with shame and reproaches, to the duties of a mother, to the duties of a Queen of Naples. Emperor Francis has remained our loyal ally until this moment, and I am convinced that he will continue to do so in the future, if we know how to deserve it. This is his duty: but his own best interests also require him to do so".

[Footnote] Among them, in the first row, Pietro Colletta who, on March 11, "in his capacity as Councillor of State", sent a letter to the King urging him against any daring enterprise. The unification of Italy was a dream, "un filone di uomini caldi si abbandonerà a questa idea lusinghiera, ma la massa degl' italiani o la spregerà o la riguarderà con indifferenza o si armerà contro di essa". Twenty-five years of war and revolution had created a deep need for peace; the fine phrases used to flatter the passions of the people had lost their power. And how much preparation was needed to bring the war power up to the proper level! "L'armata di V. M. potrebbe esser battuta prima che aiutata!" The King should keep calm, so that time would pass which would only benefit the existence of his dynasty ... F. Palermo who published the letter in Arch. stor. ital. 1856 III p. 62-65, declares himself unable to state whether the letter really reached the king's hand or not.

Okay, this seems huge to me. I had no idea how much Joachim had suffered from being branded a traitor and how much it had weighed on his conscience. "[...] he regarded Napoleon's cause as his own and soon intended to prove to the world that it had never been alien to him." I guess the need to prove to both himself and to the world that he was not a dishonourable being played a huge role in his disastrous decision. (This actually reminds me of a dissertation on Austrian general Mack - the one from the campaign of 1805 - that claimed that similar mental stress led to the latter's irrational behaviour during the time auf Ulm.)

"Onore e fedeltà" may actually be a direct reference to Eugène's (at the time often quoted) proclamation to the people in the Kingdom of Italy, dated February 1, 1814, which publically announced Murat's defection and declared the Neapolitans an enemy to Napoleon's cause. ("Français! Italiens! j'ai confiance en vous; comptez aussi sur moi! Vous y trouverez toujours votre avantage et votre gloire. Soldats! ma devise est Honneur et Fidelité! Qu'elle soit aussi la vôtre; avec elle et l'aide de Dieu nous triompherons enfin de nos ennemis.") Murat basically claims that phrase - that had been directed against him - back.

Naturally I'm also interested in those "fugitives" from Lombardy who had come to Naples and may have presented a highly misleading picture of people's attitude in Northern Italy at the time. In truth, the different political factions there seem to have agreed pretty soon in their dislike of their new Austrian masters (I believe it is in August 1814, only four months after taking over, that Bellegarde has to send military to the Scala of Milan because riots were about to break out) but that does not necessarily mean they were friendly towards the Neapolitans - who by most were considered as foreigners just as much as the French had been. Also, the Austrians seem to have taken immediate measures to remove all rebellious elements from the country; I believe it is Méneval who mentions how all the Lombardian officers suspicious of still being too attached to the old regime, were transferred to Hungary and, on their way there during the Congress in Vienna, stopped by one by one to see their old viceroy. And to probably reproach him for not having marched on Milan in April when the riots broke out.

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

On the 17th of January, every doorbell in the world rang once, at the exact same time. The ringing could be heard from Lagos to Chengdu to Yokohama to Rio de Janeiro. It was a confused moment for billions of people. They didn't know why the doorbells had all rang out at that moment.

Ferdinand waited by the door. He'd done as the others had asked: he had pressed on the plastic button to ring the doorbell. He'd heard the bell from the other side of the closed door. Behind him, a ghost he did not recognise waited at another door. The organisation of the event had been perfect. Every ghost had had its doorbell.

"Who's there?"

The voice was old, and frail. An old woman, maybe, and a suspicious one at that.

The rules of the event did not say what a ghost might do once it was inside the designated house. Most of the ghosts had settled on spooking the residents out.

Ferdinand still hadn't made up his mind, though. With no parents or family to guide him, and with no other ghosts that he could call his friends, Ferdinand had spent his time listening to other conversations. He agreed with all of them, even the ones who wanted to frighten children, and even the ones who wanted to stay invisible.

The knob turned, and if Ferdinand had a heart, it would be beating like a jackhammer. The ghost behind him was already missing, and that door was already closing, closing, closed. What was that ghost's name? Ferdinand realised that he should have asked for it.

"Just... hold on," the woman said from behind the door. The knob turned clockwise and anti-clockwise, and Ferdinand heard pressure against the door, and some very tired grunting.

Ferdinand wanted to help, but the rules of the event were clear: you will not open the door yourself. Someone must open it from the inside. Only then will you be granted entry.

"Are you still there? Hello?" the woman called out, and pulled against the door several times. "Wait, I almost got this."

In a few more painful moments, the door opened up and swung wide. The woman was indeed old, and she was about as short as an 11-year-old. She wore glasses that she adjusted as she looked at the corridor in front of her.

With some effort, she stepped out of the door and looked up and down the stairs. She leaned to look at the lift, whose doors were closed. Then, whispering curses in a language that Ferdinand did not speak, the woman turned around and re-entered her apartment, and began drawing the door closed.

Ferdinand quickly angled himself to the side of the door and snuck in just as the door clicked shut. He had a brush with the old woman, but the woman had not noticed.

"Sorry, but I had to," Ferdinand said to himself, in the way only ghosts can speak.

The woman grumbled and shook her head as she made for an armchair in the living room. "Just had to do it," she grumbled.

[nobilismare]

@blade-of-fraldarius​ | x 

Claude nocks an arrow, draws the bowstring, then releases. Another. Draw, release. The wind howls around him. The wyvern screeches. An arrow clips his ear, pain blossoming at the side of his face. Instinctively, Claude squeezes the saddle with his knees, and they drop in unison, hurtling towards the earth. The world rushes to meet them.

Failnaught is rough in his hands, the bowstring is taut beneath the pads of his fingers. His arrow flies. A scream sounds from the battle below. Claude blocks it from his mind. His breathing is controlled, rehearsed; he feels nothing as yet another faceless target hits the ground. This is war. He can't afford to think about his actions. He will grieve later, not just for those he has killed, but for their families, the fragile peace Fodlan once held, and for his own shattered innocence. Oh, he and death were close acquaintances, and Claude knows he will see much more of it before the war is through. But here and now, all he can do is fight.

Skirmishes were breaking out across Fodlan, troops on both sides mustered and stationed at the Leicester border, the Great Bridge of Myrddin hotly-contested territory between the two nations. While his grandfather still retains the title of Duke Riegan, Claude is finding himself pulled ever-deeper into the murky world of roundtable politics. He'd thought some time away would clear his head, but he'd been dragged into the Ordelia-Hrym conflict, and then a letter from an old friend had found its way into his lap.

And there he is, lance in hand, fighting like a man possessed. Ferdinand von Aegir, his shouts and commands audible above even the fiercest of battles. But he's alone, fighting off three men by himself, backing against the riverbank with every step. The Empire is closing in. Another few metres, and not even his goddess could save him.

Claude doesn't have time to think. He nudges the wyvern down towards the fighting, low enough that she swoops over the brigands and thieves, her sheer bulk knocking the imperial forces aside. With a yank on her reins, Claude forces her to back up, great wings shielding Ferdinand from harm. "Catch," Claude commands, staring Ferdinand down for just a moment before, on cue, the wyvern scoops him up in her talons, gripping him by the torso and taking to the skies once more. "Hold on tight, Your Nobleness," Claude calls over the sound of wingbeats, "you're in for the ride of your life. Thank me later, yeah?"

Ferdinand could not take it anymore. He spent the past five years adjusting to a new world that was about to come, in ways he did not agree with. His words never got through to the Emperor despite his stubborness and confidence that he had the right ideas. There was never a discussion, a consideration... Everything that had happened was in secrecy and it seemed a long term plan had been set in motion that he was but a pawn of. It was a fate he could not accept. Not after he worked hard to improve himself, to become the best version of himself to be able to guide Edelgard. No. His strengths were never put to good use.

With his father stripped of his title and gone, having fled from his confines and his mother who died of illness, he had no reason to stay. The Aegir family had fallen harder and faster than he could have ever imagined and there was nothing left to stay for. Nothing that could give him hope to change the future for the better by staying in his own lands, waiting for his next order that he could not reject.

So he had written a letter to the one person who might be able to help him out. Someone would give him a second chance and help him seek refugee.

After sending the letter, he had already left home in the middle of the night on horseback. It was going to be a long journey. One that had to be done in secret with no one finding out until it was too late to capture him. His only chance was to go through Hrym and cross the bridge, no matter how dangerous it was. He was well aware of the risks and that he could possibly lose his life but he had to take it. If he fell, he would not go down easily.

And he didn’t. Even when he was cornered, injured and with his horse having fallen, he would not give in. The Goddess was almost questioned in that moment. Had this been her plan all along? Did he make the wrong decision and was this his punishment? Having lost everything, was she so cruel to even take his life?

No. His prayers were answered instead. To his surprise, the enemies were quick to disappear as a wyvern appeared in front of him. With his eyes wide, it took him a moment to see who brought a miracle his way. 

“Claude!“ Ferdinand almost sighed out of relief but he was not safe yet. With talons wrapping around his torso, pressing on an open wound, he grit his teeth but he couldn’t help but smile because of his friend. May he never change.

Once they made it to a safe area, away from the fight, he was brought back down to his feet although he could not stand for long. His hands immediately pressed onto his bleeding side, finally able to feel the pain.

“If you had not arrived, I would be lying on the bottom of the river by now. I do not know how to ever thank you.“