#cielenruine

[hermidetta]

she must stay here.

every time, bernadetta is the first to go—the first to catastrophize, lose herself, let her brain fly off the rails and her legs soon after. the fears, the stimuli, they still claw at her head and shake her. it gets harder and harder to breathe. stay here. stay, here. mind and body, she begs them to stay the way her heart does. even the men in front of her have a hard time of it. she sees them in the fray, egos bared before the enemy; she witnesses their urgency and thinks that if these dangers might bring the tallest men to their knees, she should hate herself less when her confidence shakes, too. (that is how prey thinks. you are like prey.)

strong, the margrave grabs her. strong still, he releases her before steel crosses and clashes. the other man's shouts of suicide have her flinch—she sucks in a jagged breath.

—have to slow your breathing, you're going to send yourself into an episode. Vision okay? Hearing?

breathe, bernadetta. she does—she hates every second of this, but she does. a blade can swing like mad and get lucky, but an arrow relies on composure to fire. more projectile than extension, an arrow makes up in velocity for what it lacks in might, but with the contingency of a competent marksman to shoot. form is everything.

(that did not make it infallible.)

"maria!"

it happens too fast. another devastating blow to morale, morale and even more to maria. another foe lunges and she knocks bernadetta out of the way, but when both girls hit the ground, one is sprawled out worse for the wear. bernadetta instantly scrambles to her. thin arms collect the princess—so sweet, too sweet, sweeter than bernadetta deserves and sweeter than she could ever hope to be. why? bernadetta isn't worth it no matter how many angles she tries to rationalize it from. (ah, but that's right—love isn't always rational.)

"i'm okay," she quickly reassures the other, willing her voice not to shake. a hand brushes the hair out of maria's eyes while gray ones check her face. "i-i'm okay, it's okay."

her head snaps up to matthias and hugh. she has snuck into these halls in the dark enough times for her mind to piece together the layout.

"what was that about— about a pantry, right?"

leave room for dessert || bernadetta, hugh, maria & matthias

toaepiphany2025 finale // lord on a broken throne wc challenge(250)

[dcggersedge]

@cielenruine | cont

The collar is already gone, removed from her neck the moment they returned from their strange performance. So why is it that every thing Matthias says feels like another little jolt to her confused brain?

"The way I...speak to him?" She repeats slowly. What does that mean. What does that mean? She doesn't remember speaking to him any differently from how she speaks to everyone else except for. You know. The...lessening? Of the lying? Was that it? But Matthias shouldn't know she's a rotten liar either!

"I...I don't get it? How do I speak to him?" And how does he speak back that might've tricked anyone into thinking she had a place to call hers?

Yunaka laughs, a little desperately, raising her hands to scrub at her face. Still human. That's funny. She'd been nothing more than a tool at the hands of the script and Helena. Almost like home, here she was murdering by the demand of others again! Like she learned nothing!

And he praised that!

"I'm not..." She drops her hands back down to her sides with a sigh. When she meets Matthias's eyes again, she's not bothering to plaster on the cheerful smile or quick wit. They're both too tired for that. "I'm like, the farthest thing from a knight, Matthias. And I don't think Rafal even likes me, let alone employs me."

She hadn't answered his first question. She waves at her back. "It hurt. I'll be fine."

[hresvelged]

"That relic," His voice rang out before he appeared at her side. "I've never read of anything like it before." He was glad that she'd found no use for it in combat that day and yet...he could not help but be perplexed by it. A relic of the imperial house? Sure he had no idea of all they possessed nor would he ever but it had bugged him. They may have been in a bunker fighting for return to their academy but there was always a moment for curiosity, at least in his mind. "If it's of no trouble, could you tell me about it? The history of the heirlooms passed down in noble houses has always fascinated me." And it was a nice change, to ask to know more of her history.

The mention of her axe made her own eyes turn to its form— Its jaw-like appearance near impossible to miss; its power at the ready in her strong hands but heavy in a cold heart.

It was natural to hear the Margrave held unfamiliarity with it. Expected, even. Aymr was unlike the Heroes' Relics plastered through Fódlan's history. She couldn't fully explain outright who gave it to her nor why she had its prowess in her hands. There was no other Hresvelg to have wielded it except for Edelgard.

Yet, it was simpler to say they did. "Oh? What about it in particular stands out to you?" A touch longer pause than normal. She prepared a suitable answer for the circumstances— One that leveled enough between truth and neutrality. "As you'd imagine, this axe is tied to the Crest of Seiros. It was given to me some time ago. It acts as a tool for the next emperor, should they find themselves needing it. You likely have never seen anything similar to it because of how closely guarded it is to the Empire."

[deliverred]

It was highly unusual to be left waiting for too long. Sometimes things ran over, students needed help and Lukas had always been such a kind soul to help them but today was…an exception. Their tea had gone cold as had the snacks and he found himself warming both up and handing them out where it seemed a child of the church or a student might have appreciated the treat. The table had been offered to a few students who’d yet to reciever their own brew and he was off to find his odd middle child. The training grounds proved empty as did most other halls he recalled the young man traversing. His brows knit together and suddenly he found his feet traveling to the young man’s room.

A gentle knock was offered and a response was waited for but after a few moments, the door cracked open and he…found himself stunned. “Lukas…?” Matthias stepped into the room quietly and made sure to close the door behind him. He wasn’t unused to this sight. Between Sylvain, Miklan, and the soldiers that were often found that way in their barracks, he understood a bit…too well what might have happened but to see it occur to Lukas… “I was wondering what emergency might have kept you and it seems to be the worst of them all.”

A seat was taken at the end of Lukas’s bed and Matthias found himself leaning over his own legs. “These things do pass…but they will only do so smoothly if you’re clear with others. I…won’t ask you to tell me all of it or any of it at all…but to have you in here like this means it’s something you know needs to be handled.” A hand reached over and gently rubbed the man’s back. Comfort had never been and would never be his strongest suit but he wouldn’t let that be due to not attempting to do so. “People aren’t as simple as they might seem, all the more in moments like what I’m sure has caused you such a wobbly heart.” While he meant the words, he did offer a small shake to him.

“I’m sure they’re worried.” In hindsight, he didn’t know much about those who Lukas was around though…he couldn’t imagine that they’d be the type to be happy with things as they were now.

Lukas doesn't particularly recall making his way back to his quarters, nor any other plans he'd had for that day.

It had been a beautiful day, truth be told. The sun was out, but the air was cool enough to offset it; leaving the day wonderfully balanced. But as soon as he reaches his room, the door is shut on the day and his vision is cast into muted shadow.

Not that he's really seeing what's in front of him at the moment. He rests with his back against the closed door for a prolonged moment, doesn't register the thunk of his head against the wood as he stares into the dead space of his room.

He stays there for an undeterminable amount of time before blinking, eyes feeling gritty.

He pulls in a weary breath, lets it whisper through his lips before pushing off the solid wood of the door to blindly stumble in the direction of his bed. His legs connect with the frame and he lets gravity carry him forward onto the mattress with little care to where he falls; he just misses bashing his skull into the wall.

Lukas lays there with his legs hanging off the side of the bed for a moment before curling up onto his side, knees partially pulled up and arms laced tight against his middle. It's something he's seen others do in an attempt to self-soothe before, though it doesn't really ease the dreadful feeling inside him, nor does it offer much comfort.

The knock to the door goes unheard, likewise the fact that someone is entering until he feels the bed dip with someone else's weight. He's only taking up half of it, curled up as he is, so there's plenty of room for another.

It takes a while for the words to sink in, but when they do, there's another weight added to him. "Matthias, I should have...sent you word. I...," Lukas trails off, words heavy on his tongue as he flicks his gaze to a different spot on the wall. "My apologies."

These things pass...

"I handled it-- I attempted to handle it," he amends, fingers digging in just above the bend of his elbows. "It's difficult to be clear with others when they refuse to see what's in front of them."

The touch against his back is unexpected, and Lukas finds himself frowning in vague bewilderment at the offering of comfort.

It might have been a little awkward, but it does accomplish the task of pulling Lukas out of the tight ball he'd wound himself up in. He felt horribly stiff, distantly wondered how long he'd laid there in that position, before doing his best to shuffle around to properly speak with Matthias without accidentally kicking the man in the process.

Hm. Still had his boots on. He'd have to shake out his blankets later.

"...I rarely assume people to be simple. Everything that goes into...being them is complicated, and trying to understand it all feels like I'm piecing together another language at times," he murmurs, running a palm over his face. Lukas sighs, lets that same hand fall to his chest, presses hard until he can feel the unbothered beat of his heart.

"Is that what this is? An issue of the heart?"

Then take it out. Remove it. What good did it do him, caged in the ice of his ribs? If he could hold it in his hands, bloody and heaving, he could at least prove that it existed outside of his own desire for it to. Maybe then, free of him, it could be what it was supposed to be.

He smiles, fingers curling into the material of his shirt.

"I'm not sure they should worry. They have better things to turn their attention toward, and all I've done is try to sully the happiness they've found."

[mmoneystones]

"I don't believe I ever caught your name." He was apologetic in the slight bow he offered to her before coming to rest in the sand not far from where she was seated. "I must apologize if I came off as...cold in our game. In the end...it resulted in this. Though even now is an opportunity." A smile and a slight lift of the shaved ice. "Perhaps it's the 'Queen' or 'Ringmaster' telling us to use our time to know one another and correct our mistakes." Stilted always were these introductions. He'd done them a hundred times over yet he offered the best smile he could to her. "My name is Matthias, I'm a professor for the Blue Lions who's just made my way here. Though some may refer to me as Margrave is they hail from Faerghus as I hail over the northern region. It's good to meet you...even if the introductions are late."

Citrinne turns up to see the familiar face of the teammate that greatly contributed to their recent bout through Wonderland. After nodding at his bow, she scooched slightly away so that he could have some more space to lie in the sand.

“Nor have I, on the name part, that is,” Citrinne returns his smile with a less wide one, but it holds warmth all the same. “I am Citrinne. A noble warrior of Brodia, my home from Elyos. You may remember it as one of those books that were burnt during our final stand.”

So this Matthias…was a noble of this very land? An interesting ally, especially when they’ve been allied for the previous month. The Brodian actually feels guilty for not getting acquainted during the rest of all of this Happyland chaos. “Would you answer better to Magrave Matthias, then? It’s admittedly a bit of a mouthful - Citrinne is enough for me, by the way. I am merely a Knight of Seiros here.”

Now that introductions were out of the way, she leans a fair bit closer toward Matthias in case some of the others were sneaking earfuls. “May I be honest? You never sounded that cold, at least to me. I more remember the times we agreed on some form of answer rather than debate, or more so less arguing after the first batch of questions.”

“If it weren’t for your authority, I doubt that we would have left that strange dungeon before the sun set,” Citrinne waves a hand toward the fading orange on the waves. “While I hold no interest in knowing that Queen, it is good to know she gave me the chance to meet a fair amount of allies.”

[rafent]

"I see you spent quite a bit of time with the blacksmith." It had been risky, but the Margrave felt himself responsible for a once over of the people before he set back off. One might even think of it as some sort of homesickness. "He was quite sad you all couldn't stay longer, he even asked me to relay a message saying come back as soon as time allowed." "All of that is to say, thank you. I've nothing I can give now to properly express it but I assure you, you'll know the spoils of Gautier far better after a while." The Margrave turned to look at the rest of the people around them. "...In the end we could only do this because of everyone gathered here...regardless of so many things that would set us apart, here we are working together." "Rafal," he spoke softly, more as if he felt ashamed for even asking such a thing. "If it had been possible...how many do you think would have left?" "I can certainly understand the sentiment...Fodlan is nothing but a temporary home for some at best and a brief retreat from the lives they're raring to return to...I wonder if we were elsewhere, how many of Fodlan's would have chosen such an option as well..."

Arms as full of chores as of weapons. Fruitful his party's endeavors and weary their legs with excitement enough to confine one to a fortnight of rest. Between informal apprenticeship at the anvil and ensnarement at the inn, the recent trip to a newfound city would not be easily forgotten in more ways than one. Rafal reckoned that the passing of a thousand years would not be sufficient for fading its memory. As for his opinion on those uniquely involved?

Friendly face, ease of welcome, and a warmth to rival smelting fires. Thinking of these–or desiring strictly not to think of them—the presence of pinkly dusted earlobes hinted at his embarrassment. ". . .A plainly ridiculous notion. How might one ever feel sad for someone known across the sparsity of a single day?"

So was said, yet perhaps there were something to be said of reflection; how curious the void that might form in the absence of someone who had taught him so much in so little time. The heart was a fickle muscle, could be the only explanation, prone to attachments and misguided claims of substance where there existed little to none. Rafal shook his head gruffly, as much to ward off a sentimental deluge of thoughts as to answer Matthias with just one.

"Think nothing of it, my actions were unremarkable. The adversities trivial."

Adversities that, by the very tone of the other man, had not been totally left behind with the city they'd departed from. Shifting of the invisible, minuscule though it was, caught both eye and ear. The dragon considered what he was asked and answered it with honesty, a stable presence of mind that faltered for nothing. Not even to spare the feelings of one silently acknowledged a friend.

"The possibility of deserters is impossible to place a finger on. Even more futile to be troubled by. Many who remain will do so for as long as it serves their interests. This will not change, Matthias, whether you should fear the outcome or not." A glance to the nondescript crowd before them bustling with faces and people; crimson watching as if for someone. More than one. "Preserving oneself, preserving one's treasures, these are reasons greater than any allegiance to a place."

Return to Matthias, calm and unblinking: "However, there exists a second constant: so long as there is merit to remaining here, you shall find those who will stay."

[twistedisciple]

Understanding what seemed incomprehensible had been a fun pastime, usually. When it came to his teammate whose appearance had firmly spelled out mercenary in only the most menacing of terms, he felt a bit ill at ease.

”As it happens that we’re teamed together, I’d like to understand your strengths.”

Introductions could come after. More than that his curiosity had been piqued. Between the shirtlessness, the piercings, and the tattoos it was clear an appeal to authority would be ill advised. He knew an agent of chaos when he saw one.

Not the worst way to start a conversation, Griss thinks. Up until now, they’d been sitting in silence, which is - at least for Griss - unusual, but he’d been too consumed by the task of stoking the fire in the pit to bother anyone else. Now he looks up at the older man sitting on the other side, an eyebrow raised beneath his shaggy hair.

“Guess you have a point,” he concedes, for once surprisingly reasonable. Embers lift up and disappear into the dusky night with one final push against the main log, and then he withdraws the stoker to hold across his lap.

This question reminds him a little of when he was still just a pup in a duo two people short of being called Four Hounds. What had he told Zephia all those years ago?

“I’m real good at killing.” He’s proud and nonchalant at the same time, without a hint of remorse or shame. Even though, back then, those words hadn’t come from the blood-soaked, mute child Zephia had asked to meet. “And figuring out all the ways a person can be hurt.”

With a smile wreathed in shadow and eyes glinting with firelight, he gazes through the flames at the man on the other side.

“I’ve been told I can get too,” grin widens, “distracted though. But killing ‘em fast is so boring. They gotta get some good hits on me too. So!” He slaps his palms against his knees and sits up like they’ve just completed some sort of business transaction. “You got someone you want me to kill? Maybe one of those cute little sheep would look good in red.”

[renaisguy]

"I hope it's treated you well, that lance." The margrave offers the greeting with a smile. "But I've once more a proposition." He handed out the spear. Brand new, nary a scratch on it. "People work best with the weapons they know. I thought it might be better to get you a new one of what you had rather than something else." Well that and of course, it wasn't as if they had unlimited options. "A trade once more?"

Matthias gives Forde the Spear(30/30)

“Matthias, glad to see you’re holding up.” The lance Forde was gifted has served him well. Very well, actually, he’s not sure he would have survived the past two weeks without it.

“I’ll be sad to see it go.” He admits, handing it over. “It’s a little worse for wear, but I hope it serves you well.”

He takes the spear. It’s not the same one he started with, but it makes no difference. It feels the same, it weighs the same, and he’s sure it’ll throw the same.

“Thank you.”

Forde gives Matthias the blessed lance (7/40)

[nabataprophet]

"I believe I owe you thanks. While we were able to get tomes," notably, he held one in hand. "It was a joint effort." "And one that it seems even extended out to assisting the people of Gautier." The tome was held out to her and a small nod was offered. "I'll have to repay you properly for your assistance when I'm able, but for now one of the spoils your efforts helped procure."

Matthias gives Sophia Dark Spikes(20/20)

While Sophia's own shopping excursion had been unsuccessful on the actual shopping front, never actually managing to make it over to the marketplace on account of the unfortunate number of golems that had shown up every time they stepped out of the blacksmith's shop, it seems the other groups had managed it in their stead.

Sophia accepts the proffered tome, but shakes her head as she does so.

"No... all I did... was get rid of a few enemies. Edelgard... was the one actually helping people. Her presence... was a great help for making sure all of the citizens... moved to safety in time."

She hugs the tome tightly to her chest.

"This tome... is all the thanks I need. Anything else... please make sure it finds its way to Edelgard."

[ulircursed]

"Ah, I apologize. We had been allies during that time on the island, but I neglected to share my name with you in all this time since." There was a slight bow of his head. "And likewise, I apologize for the state of that town." Though he had already explained it, that was no excuse. "I'd like to thank you properly once we return to the monastery. Helping others is a noble thing but that doesn't mean it should simply be accepted without recompense where it is abundantly available. You spared many people; our group, my people, and myself quite a bit of trouble."

Andrei inclines his head towards Margrave Gautier as the other approaches, though he shakes his head at both the other's apology and gratitude.

"I merely did what I could, and what I had to," he says, "Satisfying the terms of our mission is not something that necessitates special thanks."

Sparing trouble. Perhaps that truly is all he had been able to do in the city. He thinks of the bard, the man in the cathedral, the gatekeeper. He had been a mere stranger to them, and yet they had responded to him, had helped him in their own ways, just like he had been of aid to them.

It's still a confusing thought, and Andrei swallows a sigh.

"I've lost my claim to the people's faith long ago," he says heavily. Perhaps he'd never had it in the first place, he thinks, and the thought is tinged in more melancholy than bitterness.

"But... Perhaps I would like to become someone worthy of trust."

[stellalimned]

"You did well." The words are spoken gently. "I apologize that we were unable to find proper tomes for you in our journey both times. Even if it means we must eventually resort to less ideal means...you are far too capable to left without a means to use your talents." He turns in an effort to dismiss himself before making one last remark. "At the tavern, I don't believe he was trying to antagonize you. People's consideration and care, it manifests in many different ways. I hope that you are able to make more bonds, even in this unfortunate situation."

Nothing can compare to Lord Nergal's praise. This I have believed even after coming here to Fodlan, for I was made to serve him, and though it was only natural that I completed the missions he entrusted to me to perfection, his praise was a reaffirmation that I was the best, his finest creation and most valued weapon. Even if I did not need his praise, that he would make the effort to give it says everything in and of itself.

Professor Matthias's praise is... warm. As a father to his child, a teacher to his prized student. It is different from my master's. For one, it is proof that I have succeeded after a failure from which I thought I would never recover, and for it to come after a failure at all... Lord Nergal would have sooner thrown a failure away than allow it a second chance. For another, it is personal, not a foregone conclusion, but something I have earned because I failed and tried again. I do not know how to respond to it, and I duck my head while I attempt to piece together something to say in turn.

"... Your feedback is... valued. It is because of your assent that I understood I was proceeding correctly and thus will be able to perform even better in the future." I glance back up at him, shaking my head. "Your apology is not necessary. It is evident I have handicapped myself by not exploring alternative avenues of self-defense before now, which is something I must remedy with all haste. I had believed I needed nothing other than my magic, but such a mindset is detrimental when I have little to no access to my power."

His parting comment leaves a... strange sensation in my chest. It is not the manufactured joy or sorrow that I have previously identified, and the trigger seems to be those last words. It feels... small, but... warm, like the professor's praise.

I hope that you are able to make more bonds, even in this unfortunate situation.

Before, I knew only Denning and Young Master Nils; now, I have acquainted myself with Maria, Professor Matthias, Dorothea, and a few others from these missions. I have gathered their names and garnered their respect...

Professor, it seems that I already am.

[optimismxmagicism]

"My, I would hope the little witch has been good in my absence." Matthias made no note to hide his presence as he approached the boy with a smile. "More treats than tricks this evening, right?" The old man leaned against a wall, taking a small rest. There was little to be read from Ewan, It would be foolish to offer oneself up to be watched if one were a devil. He could hardly say that he trusted the boy, but he did not distrust him. "I've been unfortunately tricked time and again. Perhaps the worry of a witch's curse whilst we gather our spoils would prevent such travesty again, yes?"

“My my, if it isn’t mister vampire!” Ewan spoke with faux surprise as the man approached, a cheeky smile on his face. “Who’s to say? I could’ve been getting up to aaaaall sorts of mischief. It’s in my blood, after all.” He giggled. Honestly, besides trying to make Sennō trip over a banana he had been remarkably well behaved, all things considered. Part of it was him not wanting to be suspected- If everyone tried to pin him down as a devil, any real devils could escape unnoticed.

“I see, so a little devil got to you first, hmm? Well, not to worry.” Rummaging through his candy bag, he pulled out a handful of more old-timey sweets he figured an older guy would like. Then, the mage dropped them into Matthias’ hands without asking. “There’s no point to a witch’s trick if the devil has already caused mischief. So here’s a witch’s treat instead!”

With a wink and lighthearted smile, he turned around. “I’ve actually been bothered by devils a few times myself, but I have an idea on who’s hiding their tail, so to speak.” Based on previous interactions, he’s had at least one suspect in mind. It wasn’t the most pleasant of thoughts, admittedly.. But that was the name of the game.

“But I’d love to go candy gathering with you again, Mister Vampire. You were so helpful carrying my candy bag last time! At least half of it would’ve been left behind if it wasn’t for you.” Indeed, the size and weight of that bag would’ve been too much for such a petite witch.

Then, with a twirl on one heel, he turned around to face the margrave again, putting his hands on his hips. “So, won’t you help me do so again? If you do, maybe I can even give you a hint on the impostor’s identity. One of them, at least.”

[dcggersedge]

"I did mean it back there. I'm certain things would've turned out different had there been a second spared before you spurred the rest of us to act." It was remiss to think things would even begin to come close to what they once had been. Things changed, such was life. So long as she was still living, it was fine. "And I was curious...I believe they were...terrors where Lukas was from but I don't think I've ever run across anything quite like the corrupted you mentioned." Between that and the emblem rings...there was a lot he didn't know about the place she was from.

"If you'd like me to forget all I heard and return to seeing you as a professor, I have no qualms in sparring you that trouble." He'd need to be blind to notice how quickly it was she retreated into herself, only to find solace in a sword. "Selfish as it is, I would like to know more about where you come from, even if all I can offer in return is my knowledge of Fodlan."

So did I save you, or am I a quick to violence idiot?

Yunaka had found a tree to lean against, where she could watch both where everyone gathered to prepare for what would be, allegedly, their final stand, and the edge of the forest in case that fog from earlier attempted to roll its way over them. Her eyes remain focused on the distance, even as Matthias came over to speak with her, flicking back and forth between the two points.

She doesn't feel like talking. It doesn't seem there's anywhere she can go to get away from it either. She crosses her arms and tugs the cape Fogado gave her around herself.

"I don't know what Terrors are." The words fall out flatly against the ground, one after the other. There's no inflection to her tone, only a flat monotone as she continues to watch. Rafal knows all about them sits poised on her tongue for a moment before she lets it die. "It's like I said. They're dead bodies, raised by a Fell Dragon. Nothing more than that."

Why does everyone tell her that? The past doesn't matter? That they can all just forget it? Oh, who you were doesn't matter, Yunaka when CLEARLY IT FUCKING DOES.

Can't solve anything. Supposed to be a villain. Violent and merciless.

She wonders if Aeschylus is right. She wonders if she's going to die here. At this point...if it helps the others, it isn't the worst option available.

"I was hired as a professor. That's it." If she keeps telling herself that, then maybe one day it will be true.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I don't want to talk right now."

[hresvelged]

"I'm glad to see you all safe...but would it not have been more favorable to retreat and call for reinforcements from the empire?" He had approached at her side and gave her a cursory glance before deciding, were there any worry, she most likely would've been with her retainer. "I cannot speak to knowing the situation...but even as strong as your class is, it was a mistake coming to the monastery's aid in such a way." Less an admonishment and more a wonder at what the plan had been. But easily he smiles knowing what it was that spurred people to make such decisions. "I hope that you've been able to find those you were concerned about. I can't imagine that having whatever this battle is spill out into the Empire would be favorable for your ascension."

"Oh? .. You sound much like Hubert— He told me the same thing." Similar, if nothing else. That, every move was a reflection of herself and the role she would inherit as emperor. That what happened here could hinder it. It would be the beginning of a great milestone in this land's history. She would start it off right before it even began.

A hand sauntered to her chin; eyes ever-forward. "I don't regret my decision. If I did, that in itself would put me in a poor light. A leader shouldn't second guess themselves. It may be hard to see, but I know what I was doing."

Fingers fell to her sides. "I am the only one able to take the throne— There is no other choice. Even so, abandoning the monastery myself remained out of the question. If I did that, I would be losing trust of many here. I believe that to be just as important."

Adrestia was constantly on her mind; how it had been plagued long ago. It angered her. She could have gone back and personally requested reinforcements— could have heeded others' words and sat back— but she wanted to be a helm on this herself.

[hermidetta]

He did his best not to be cruel, days like this were meant to be spent enjoying the company of friends. Matthias was quick in his mission. A small box with a tiny bear, small enough to be looped onto a belt, had been left alongside a few tiny cubes of cheese. There was a knock at her door but he was long gone by the time anyone would have answered.

⠀ ⚘ birthdaydetta 2k24 ♡ ⠀

to coax out a mouse one must, of course, start with cheese. for all of her unpleasant run-ins with garreg mach's rodents, bernadetta quite resembled one herself—though do not ever tell her this or risk losing her favor.

"dear mr. matthias,"  a tiny voice recites, in the measured timbre of reading off parchment.  "bernie is very sorry for biting your hand that one time. you were just kind of scary, and you're still kind of scary, but that wasn't okay to do. so, i'm sorry. i will not do it again, probably."

the pacing of the recitation crumbles.  "well, it's not like i meant to! i just panicked! and then you started cackling and prancing after me, footsteps thudding and shaking the ground! fee-fi-fo-fum, much?! and then you and professor lambert, oh sweet summer professor lambert, you kissed right in front of bernie's face! kissed! in front! of my face! my eyes! my eyes, i say!"

the other week when matthias (despite everything) had spared this rodent five whole cheese cubes was when she had decided to pen an apology that was long overdue. but bernadetta crumples up this leaflet, too, flinging the balled-up letter over her shoulder and onto the floor after its other ten or twelve failed predecessors.

under normal circumstances she could have outwritten a dozen flimsy apologies like that one in her sleep. under normal circumstances bernadetta could write and write for days. alas, she had been hit by every creative enemy in the book: writer's block. burnout. general lethargy and an unavoidable seasonal low. the overall frustration of other projects letting her down, and bernadetta could think of no one willing to return to a pit where their passion felt thankless. she ought to put everything she has ever written over an open flame—it seemed from the ash-laden tray on her desk she was already halfway there. yet the knock comes just when she is about to call it quits on this, that, and maybe everything else.

bernadetta blinks. she drops her pen, scurries to the front and peeks under the bottom sliver as usual. for good measure she waits another moment—no, three—before the handle of her door finally clicks with caution. two eyes and a nose peep outside first.

just the cubes of cheese are already enough to make bernadetta reevaluate herself all over again. the bear, though, delivers the finishing blow. it sits in her palms while she marvels at it, gray eyes gleaming like a child on the morning of—well, their birthday. and bernadetta has always felt at her bravest with her namesake in the picture. this was a fragment of bravery she could take with her.

it sobers her, reminds her of what she ultimately knows: that even if she struggles to pick up her pen today, tomorrow will bring with it another new chance. so bernadetta, trudging through the crumpled papers and returning to her desk with her spoils, pops another cube of cheese in her mouth and tries her very best to give herself grace. if matthias could try so hard not to be cruel to her, bernadetta could at least do the same.

[deamare]

♡ ˚·  @cielenruine asked:

"Are you doing alright now?" Wellness checks were hardly his thing but he would have forever thought on it if he hadn't. Her reaction to some of the questions had been a slight touched. For most what could be pushed as a hypothetical or reasoned away, others felt far more strongly. It may have been wrong of him to think that, yet it persisted. "It was a valiant effort. Your insight was wonderful to see." After a moment he looked off. "If you ever need to talk, there are people at the academy who provide a great service in taking a weight off a person's heart." Then a bit of a hesitant sigh. "And should you ever not wish to talk yet do not wish to find yourself alone, I often find myself the same. Though most would say it's breaking curfew, the library provides a wonderful place to simply read in silence amongst others." He chided himself. If Rodrigue were here this'd probably be far more reassuring. "I can't attest to understanding entirely, but in some small part, I do get it and would like to help you."

A pang of shame-- had she truly worried her teammates so? “I am fine, thank you.” And she intends to apologize for raising such concern, before he speaks again.

Ishtar’s own gaze falls lamely to her hands, teeth worrying the inside of her lip. It is a kindness, this effort that he makes. That much is not wasted on her, nor is it lost to her own guilt for having prompted it. The questions asked, the rooms themselves, they had set her on edge, brought out a well-protected ache. 

“I will certainly remember that.” To be alone is not new to her, but to seek to be otherwise is another question. “It is… kind of you, to care for me like this.” A pause— she does not know for what reason he does, though by his own words she might wager that she resembles something he knows of himself.

And though it is not so simple as speaking to another, the weight of her grief too burdensome a thing to be shared ( a punishment she is well owed ) it is the idea that somebody might wish to listen that is enough. Ishtar’s eyes lift once more to the man’s face. She is smiling, a soft thing that does not reach her eyes but warms them all the same.

“I am fortunate to not have been alone then or now.” There is the careful movement of her hand until it rests feather-light on the other’s arm. Gratitude, or perhaps a reassurance of her own, expressed in a motion where words feel too few. “Thank you, again.”