#there is no structural reason to remove a mantle

[marzipanandminutiae]

"selling gorgeous Victorian fireplace mantle!"

that house had better have been literally falling down around it or gutted a long time ago, or I'm filling your shoes with thumbtacks in the night

[zahri-melitor]

Ric Grayson, or Tim 'Nightwing' Drake: a story of how Tom King's Nightwing pitch would have functioned.

You can often see the remains of discarded or overruled pitches in comics, if you look at structural decisions and compare them to pitches that you know were made.

One obvious one people might be familiar with is that Helena Bertinelli, back in 2003, was being set up to be removed from the Bat books and transferred over to what eventually became Greg Rucka's Checkmate 2006. There's a whole establishing storyline done in Gotham Knights by Scott Beatty. However, Gail Simone's pitch for Birds of Prey, which was published a mere two months after the Beatty story wrapped up, took Helena and used her to expand the Birds of Prey roster. It's a move that likely redirected Helena's character arc permanently (though the ghosts can still be seen in the choice to use Helena B as Matron in Grayson).

Equally: I hypothesise the reason we got Ric Grayson is because we got Young Justice 2019.

If you look at the storytelling, in terms of cover dates:

Dick was shot in Batman #55, in November 2018

Tynion's 'Tec run finished July 2018

Young Justice 2019 started March 2019

City of Bane started September 2019

King's pitch for Tim to take over the Nightwing mantle would probably have been a 12 issue run, to my eye; with the schedule that Nightwing had at the time, it would have been 6 issues (twice monthly) and then 6 issues (once monthly), ending the run and placing Dick back as a restored Nightwing...in issue #61, August 2019.

City of Bane kicked off the next month, being King's big 'all family-in' storytelling climax arc. It would have been the perfect place to put Nightwing, once again himself, reuniting with people. (I cannot tell how this placement would have gone should King have got his full 100 issue run; but I don't think City of Bane was significantly shifted forwards?)

Now I can't tell if the twice monthly issues dropped to monthly because Ric Grayson went down like a lead balloon with the fandom, but that would have been a very fast turn around in solicits for DC to withdraw support on a new direction (about a month). If it was expected to remain twice monthly, then I still think it would have been a 12 issue story, but might have stretched to 18 to meet plot needs over in Batman (King doesn't seem to have an issue about padding stories to get timing to line up in ways he wants them to)

King's pitch was also made at the time when Tim was still Red Robin, but clearly there was internal interest in transitioning him away from the name and into some other identity as part of the shift away from n52. Putting Tim into the Nightwing suit for 6 months to a year would have been a nice intervening step to use as the prompt to give Tim a new identity.

It's a pitch from King that just...fits in really really well. I can see how he'd have had it interact with things. Especially as King really hadn't had an opportunity to use Tim in his run yet due to the Mr Oz storyline, and he'd been pulling so many other faces through his story.

(I will also note that the 'Drake' identity and costume for Tim appears in January 2010 in Young Justice; Bendis' initial concept was clearly taking Tim back to Robin before he also tried a 'new costume' growth arc).

But instead Bendis wanted to use Young Justice to anchor the whole Wonder Comics initiative, and he wanted Tim as Robin for it because the concept was to pull in all the nostalgia for everyone for Young Justice 1998, thus having everyone in their original identities. And that whole decision probably had more lead time than your average comic, so it took priority over suggestions of moving Tim to Nightwing (because they already had plans brewing).

(And then Young Justice got fucked over with SO MUCH editorial meddling, to the point that I cannot wait until enough people have left DC that we actually get stories about exactly how bad it was, rather than just inferring it from what can be seen in the text itself)

Come back next time for when I instead explain what I think happened with the accepted pitch for Ric Grayson (and how I cannot BELIEVE this was actually an accepted pitch, given the way it was treated as a hot potato; it feels more like an editorial dictate of a concept that was passed off until Dan Jurgens came up with an idea of how to make it into an actual plot)

[purplealmonds]

Everything about Shingi's character design choices is laced with melancholy.

Let's start with a simple observation:

1. The character for "shin"(神) - divine – is phonetically similar to the "Shi"(死) – death.

As a matter of fact, the word for "dead" in Japanese is pronounced "shin" (死ん). There's the missing "n"! On can argue that Shingi, this divine ritual, can also be considered a death-related ritual since it involves the slaying of a mononoke. There's always a sadness involved in its killing, as a mononoke is birthed from intense suffering. I'm pretty sure that this phonetic similarity is not a coincidence, given how much care is put into naming the other characters in Mononoke Karakasa (see my analysis on Utayama and Mizorogi)

Now let's dive into more observations below the cut!

2. Movie-Kusu (Nusu) and Shingi look like completely different people.

Let's compare/contrast them with Anime-Kusu (Kusu) and Hyper for a clearer read.

👭 Exhibit A: Physical Form

Kusu & Hyper: Hyper is slightly more muscular and taller than Kusu, but has more or less the same facial structure. They both have manicured nails. Although they have differing hair types (Kusu's is wavy while Hyper's is sleek), they're roughly the same lightness (dirty blond and silver).

Nusu & Shingi: Nusu has a pointed chin, and Shingi has a squared off chin. He also has a longer neck and keeps his nails unpainted and blunt. His red-blue iridescent black hair (the color which also represents masculinity in Japanese culture) contrasts strongly against Nusu's pale lavender with pink fringe. They share eye shapes, but nothing much else.

👗 Exhibit B: Fashion Choices

Kusu & Hyper: Hyper's outfit could be considered a battle-ready variant of Kusu's garb - removed inner robe, rolled up outer kimono sleeves.

Nusu & Shingi: Nusu's outfit is based on a woman's kimono. Shingi's outfit is based on the men's kingashi kimono. While Nusu wears is draped in many, many layers of fabric, Shingi is in a casual state of undress and runs around barefoot.

Superficially, we can interpret Nusu & Shingi's different appearances as a more blatant divide between yin and yang, the feminine and masculine. However, I think there may be a deeper story reason behind this, which is...

2. Shingi's Appearance is Trauma-Coded

🌈Exhibit A: Color Symbolism

White, or shiro, is considered a sacred color reserved for the gods. It is also the color of traditionally symbolizing mourning and death. Shingi's outfit heavily features white. And not to mention, his eyes are white too!

In my analysis about eye colors in relation to the Go-Gyo (五行), or the five elements which are part of the hexagram paradigm, I noted that it was interesting that while Shingi was aligned with the Kun(坤) exorcism sword aligned with the earth element (symbolized by yellow), his eye color is white, which is aligned with metal. Earth has an inter-promoting relationship to metal, in that the latter is generated by the former. And how is earth forged into metal? Through incredible pressure (life's adversities), perhaps forged even in the very mantle of the earth (fire).

Which brings me to another interesting observation: if Shingi is theoretically aligned with metal, why is it that his markings are red (fire), while Hyper's is gold (the color of a metal)? It's plausible that when earth-aligned Shingi metaphorically crumbled from this yet-to-be-unearthed trauma, fire-aligned Hyper "reforged" those disparate fragments into a new, possibly stronger elemental alignment of metal. And in return, Shingi "branded" Hyper with metallic gold, which is a color tangential to the yellow color-coding of earth. Whatever hardships Hyper and Shingi went through together prior to the first episodes of Mononoke, they both left their marks on each other quite literally.

👕Exhibit B1: State of Dress

Depression often leads to the neglect of self-care, which in turn makes keeping a tidy appearances a daunting, often unsurmountable chore. Shingi's kimono top is half-shucked. He doesn't even bother to wear pants, and the bandages on his forearm and legs are loosely tied tripping hazards. He also keeps his hair down. Hair styling is a huge indicator of one's status in feudal Japan. By not styling his hair, he's choosing to 1) defy social norms and 2) disregard and neglect the duties connected to his divine status.

👘 Exhibit B2: Kimono Folding

This was actually a really subtle detail, but once I saw it I could never unsee it. Check out how Shingi folds his kimono top. I know his abs are distracting, but bear with me here:

Did you see it too? Instead of crossing his kimono left over right like Nusu, Shingi crosses his kimono right over left. The only time you cross your kimono like Shingi if you are clothing a corpse. Combined with the phonetics of his name and white coloring of his robe, I have reason to believe that at some point in time, Shingi "died". And the only window of time a being like himself can possibly "die" is when he possesses his medicine seller's body to slay a mononoke. And if he "dies" while possessing his medicine seller, I imagine that the medicine seller would succumb to those injuries and also follow suit shortly afterwards.

4. Conclusion/Headcanon:

I have a theory that, upon bonding with the exorcism sword, the spirit of that sword imprints upon the wielder by forming their humanoid appearance after their medicine seller's - like Hyper and Kusu. Which leads me to believe that Shingi had another partner prior to Nusu. Shingi "died", presumably from being overwhelmed by a mononoke. His previous partner died shortly afterwards. When he by some miracle is "revived," he starts questioning his godhood and is wracked with survivor's guilt. This manifests as his lanky, almost emaciated body build and his mortal, less otherworldly appearance (compared to Hyper). When Nusu inherited that exorcism sword, Shingi clung to aspects of his former partner's likeness as his way of mourning. Somewhere along the way, Hyper intervenes to save Shingi from his downward spiral, resulting in the two of them being irreversibly marked and influenced by each other's elemental alignments.

But yeah – that's my angsty theory about Shingi's tragic backstory. What do you think? Do you think it has any credence to it?

[mineralsrocksandfossiltalks]

Monday Musings: Mount Everest

The tallest mountain in the world has captured human imagination for centuries. How did something so massive come to be? How can anything possibly live up there? Why are no other mountains as tall as this one? The reasons are found beneath the surface in the geologic structure of the earth.

Mt. Everest is found in the Himalayas right smack in between the Indian Plate and the Eurasian Plate collision zone. India first collided with Eurasia 55 million years ago; long after the extinction of the dinosaurs. India, was a small, very old, strong block f continental lithosphere that had split off of the supercontinent Gondwana about 200 million years ago.

Contrast this with the southern part of Eurasia which was an amalgamation of younger, softer, warmer chunks of lithosphere that had been accreted on by other collisions. So when India joined the fun, it smushed those younger pieces right up like a knife to frosting.

But is that the reason it's the tallest? After all, were't the Alps built in a similar way when Africa collided with Europe? So why aren't they as tall?

It has a little to do with the rate of uplift vs the rate of erosion.

If the rate of erosion is greater than that of uplift, the mountains won't get very tall. If they are the same, you don't get a whole lot of change at all.

Now hang on, the Alps are rising at a rate of 2.5 mm a year with an erosion rate of upo to 1.4 mm a year and the Himalaya are only rising at a rate of 0.5 mm a year and an erosion rate of 2 mm a year. Shouldn't the Alps be taller?

Let's talk a little bit about isostatic rebound. Usually, this is a reference to the removal of weight on the crust as glaciers melt but it can also be used in the case of the removal of rock. Mount Everest is actually growing because of two ancient rivers that combined to become one large river, the Arun.

Large rivers can remove a lot of sediment in a short amount of time. The Arun River runs through some of the steepest terrain in the Himalayas which means it moves a lot of sediment. Mt. Everest is heavy and because of that it sinks into the mantle. The Arun River removes a few loads of sediment over the last 89,000 years or so and moves that weight elsewhere allowing Mount Everest to start bobbing back up.

Isn't geology wild? Tune into tomorrow for some earthshaking trivia! Fossilize you later!

[itsoverfeeling]

my non-comprehensive, sometimes inconsistent approach to ultra biology

disclaimer: im just having fun, this is all bullshit, theres no singular biological headcanon i agree with here, i just pick and choose whatever i think works best for the thing im making. yay!

mantles and shells

ultras are like invertebrates to me. i think if there was one way to summarize my ultra hcs, its invertebrates. i may be biased because i love bugs, but lets ignore that for now.

many ultras (specifically m78 ultras) share a couple of common traits. the rubber suit, the silver/metallic faces, glowing eyes, and occasionally they might sport a bit of armor. now ive seen some works that imply this armor is removable. to me i think its more appropriate to compare them to... the humble mollusc!

now, molluscs are diverse like any other phylum and their traits do not manifest in a singular anatomical diagram like this might imply..

that being said, i like this diagram for discussing ultra biology. as you can see, there is a pink layer between the shell and the rest of the body. this is called a mantle. the mantle covers the organism's visceral mass (this is a particular soft region that contains internal organs). its also responsible for creating mollusc shells. snail shells, for example, are formed due to the mantle.

now i'd also like to quote this bit from wikipedia: "The four most universal features defining modern molluscs are a soft body composed almost entirely of muscle, a mantle with a significant cavity used for breathing and excretion, the presence of a radula (except for bivalves), and the structure of the nervous system."

so. how much of this do i think can be referenced for ultra biology?

ultras, by default, have these soft bodies. the only exceptions, across all ultras, is their metallic face. i imagine this is the main shell grown by their mantles. relatedly, these harder structures tend to be located around the head and torso region, meaning to me that this mantle-like organ is located on the upper body. it can also form a secondary shell on their chest, like with zero here. that being said, these shells are like body parts, so theyre Not removable unless you want them to bleed out..

on some level, i think of mantles being spacium-based but im not fully sure how to articulate that yet.

crystals

so if i think these shells are similar to mollusc shells and produced by the ultra-equivalent of a mantle, do i believe this is case with forehead crystals or body crystals?

well, i think of crystals as a separate growth. the main thing that separates these structures from the previously mentioned shells is that they're evidently more light-based than the primary/secondary shells. so much so, that they're how some ultras generate beam and light-based attacks. i generally think of crystals as internal structures that have grown outwards into external structures, almost like tusks. they're basically hardened light-based structures, not quite light and not quite shells.

petrification

we see ultras being turned into stone more than once. beyond the actual in-canon reasoning we receive, i like to think this is a natural reaction similar to the other forms of biomineralization i mentioned.

the mantle and shell(s) are a more physical set of structures than the rest of ultra's biology. i would say its an ultra's light/life-force that usually regulates this function. so when an ultra is weakened, and therefore their light is diminished, this physical function would keep running, even without their consciousness present, until the entire body is covered in this shell-like growth. the mantle theoretically can form a stronger, less refined (no longer smooth space metal, but rock-like texture) layer, at the sacrifice of other functions.

internal anatomy and mouths

i think that, largely, an ultra's internal anatomy is vestigial. they likely have typical organs such as stomachs and intestines and reproductive organs, but they just sort of sit there. with some genetic lines, some of these organs and systems have started to be lost with each generation, while others, curiously, tend to remain no matter what.

based on absolutely nothing, i love to imagine that in many ultras, the species-equivalent of their esophagus is gone at this point. their stomachs tend to stay behind, but physically they couldn't possibly eat without some major alterations.

of course, i do think these still-existing vestigial systems can come back "online" so to speak. i think this is a major consequence of merging with other species and beings. for a moment, they experience/live with instincts/behaviors/biological traits similar to their host/form. this can impact them physically and mentally in the process and most ultras don't come back the same. sometimes their bodies can adapt well to the sudden changes and sometimes they can't.

technically, they can use their mouths despite the metallic surface, but since most ultras grow up without learning to move those structures, the "muscles" there atrophy over time. your average adult ultra can't open their mouths without physically pulling them open with their hands.

their teeth are.. somewhat based on molluscs too actually. the OG ultraman suit has sort of human like teeth (if i recall correctly) and i think thats awesome, but i also think THIS is awesome:

this is the radula. think of it like a tongue covered in teeth!

heres a diagram of how it works. theyre not biting or chewing the way humans use their teeth, but its more like theyre scraping food into their mouth. i think this is sick as hell. i have no reason for why i like to imagine this, i just think its awesome. idk if i'll ever incorporate it into my work beyond just thinking it, but i wanted to mention it either way.

an alternate idea i have is similar to sea lamprey mouths except more human-like. so i sometimes imagine ultras with multiple rows of thin sharp teeth surrounding a fairly normal tongue. very cool and awesome.. but my main rule with the mouth region is that 1) theres some crazy shit happening in there 2) we probably wont see it because they just dont open their mouths.

communication

i loveeeee linguistics. so i think a lot about how ultras communicate. in fights, humans are implied to hear ultras' grunts and shouts, so i think ultras, despite not physically speaking, still make involuntary, close-mouthed sounds.

they communicate telepathically and i think that would change the linguistic landscape significantly. instead of being limited to words, ultras can convey more subjective meanings with even more clarity, such as emotions and feelings that might carry over mentally. i also imagine "thinking out loud" could be very literal for ultras and children would have to learn very quickly how to keep their thoughts to themselves. i wonder if ultras like geed would struggle with this since they never grew up learning this themselves?

i also wonder if there are certain tones/meanings, such as formality and status, that could be conveyed with telepathy and outside of literal words. maybe you could just send out some vibes and everyone would be like "wow what a polite young ultra" <- and in this case it could become very annoying if everyone just Knew something because you couldnt keep it in your brain. that would Suck.

anyway. those are my general ideas i have. sometimes i use them, sometimes i dont. sometimes theyre contradictory to what is "canon", but i just follow my heart...

[wonder-worker]

"Alice Perrers was perceived by her contemporaries to be an uncrowned queen and through an analysis of her activities it is clear she was able to utilise the practical benefits of queenship for her own ends. However, by taking on the mantle of queenship Alice fundamentally corrupted the sovereignty and kingship of Edward III. First, by her aggressively political behaviour she became the threat at the heart of the power structure that the gendered constructions of queenship were supposed to remove from a consort. Second, by taking on the practical aspects of queenship she inherently undermined the ideological role of queenship, both by the simple fact that she was a mistress and not a queen, and even more so because of her behaviour. The problems Alice caused and how she was perceived were amplified in contrast to the [...] demeanour of Philippa, who was widely respected and much loved by the people. Just as queens in their exalted position were ‘lightning rods’ for ideas about women and female power, so was Alice because of her proximity to the king."

-Laura Tompkins, The uncrowned queen: Alice Perrers, Edward III and political crisis in fourteenth-century England, 1360-1377 (Thesis, University of St Andrews, 2013)

"Alice's expansion of her power through the office of queenship was problematic for a number of reasons. First, while the queen’s power was legitimised by her marriage to the king and her coronation, Alice’s power was not formalised in this way and consequently would have been regarded as illegitimate. Second, she was not the right type of woman to share in the king’s dignity. She was not noble, she was not chaste and she was not virtuous. Instead, she was a low-born London widow and a businesswoman. Consequently, we find Alice being discussed in the language and stereotypes of queenship, but in a rather negative light. For example, while queens are routinely described as noble, beautiful and virtuous regardless of what they actually looked like, Walsingham is quick to emphasise that Alice was of low birth, and that, almost implied as a consequence, she ‘was not attractive or beautiful’. While we do not know what Alice looked like it seems unlikely that Edward III would have taken and kept her as a mistress for so long if she had been physically repellent. Third, and most significantly, not only was Alice an inappropriate mistress exercising illegitimate power, but she also broke all of the gendered rules that queenship was constructed around, inverting the ideal form of queenship to her advantage."

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

"Now," Eris demanded, her uncovered eyes glowing fiercely. "Tell us how to follow the Witness."

"Tell you?" Savathûn frowned, her voice edged with disappointment. "I already showed you."

Ikora leapt to her feet, roaring Void energy distorting the air around her. She took a measured step toward Savathûn.

"No tricks, no riddles, no lies twisted around the truth," she said, her voice firm. "Tell us now, or I don't have any reason to let you leave here alive."

Savathûn slowly drew herself to her full height and grinned down at Ikora, spreading her wings wide. "Eris may have managed an interesting sword logic stunt, but I have lost none of my power." She began to hover, her talons dragged across the ground as she floated toward the Warlock. "You're in no position to stop me."

The Guardian rose from Eris's side.

"I am," they said.

Savathûn paused for a long moment, her ossified face unreadable.

Finally, she sighed.

"Just when you were starting to impress me," she said as she closed her wings and stooped to Ikora's height. Immaru bobbed awkwardly to keep level with her.

"We both need to stop the Witness, and to that end, I have given you what I promised," she said slowly. "You will find you have it when you are ready. Like Eris said: our bargain is complete. There's no need for drama."

Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.

JALAAL >> REY

How is anyone supposed to arrive at this by studying the Truth to Power text?

REY >> JALAAL

Very easily. This is why I believe I'm right. This is the analogy our Guardian analysts failed to grasp. Look at the structure of the text.

At first, Eris is real. Then we learn Eris's voice is a deception by Medusa. Then we learn Medusa is nested inside Quria. Then we learn Quria is a fiction of Dûl Incaru. And at the center, Savathûn reveals herself to be the parent of it all.

We are headed inward, as if moving from parent to child universe.

Then we proceed in reverse. Savathûn is revealed to be a fiction of Dûl Incaru. Dûl Incaru a simulation by Quria, and so on.

So in the end, Truth to Power moves outwards.

Just as Savathûn plans to move. In from our universe and out to the Distributary—

Or out from our universe to its parent.

JALAAL >> REY

Oh. I see. I see! A literary structure like that is called a chiasmus, and chiasmus means "crossing point"! Like a wormhole or a portal! It was hidden in plain sight.

But then we must act urgently to stop this! Savathûn cannot be allowed to depart our universe into some reality superordinate to ours—

But now you'll tell me: so what if she does? What can she do to us out there?

REY >> JALAAL

It's all beside the point anyway. She may have already accomplished what she wanted. Some damn fool Guardian carried out her instructions on a dare. I don't know why she wanted a powerful Guardian to destroy her daughter in the ruins of Mara's throne. But she wanted it to happen. And I'm guessing the effects weren't felt here.

I think she got a glimpse into a world above our own. Maybe even a kind of influence.

Of course, Savathûn is still with us. She walked among us as Osiris; she tricked us into removing her worm; she hasn't vanished into some higher reality. I do not think she built a wormhole into another universe and walked through it—although her intrigues with the Nine have focused on creating singularities from dark matter.

She keeps a lot of irons in the fire, our Witch Queen.

I think, rather, that she sent instructions on how to mantle her.

I think the whole Truth to Power manuscript is an ova, a manual on how to behave like her, how to describe her through action and thought so completely that you become her and thus give birth to her.

It's done in the Books of Sorrow, to recall her from true death. It might be done again.

So a part of her is out of the jar. Slithering into that other world.

Let's hope no one there has given birth to her yet.

JALAAL >> REY

Maybe you're the one who has it all backwards.

The Light is noncomputable. It can't be simulated in conventional physics. That proves that any universe with the Light cannot be a simulation. Our universe can contain simulations, but it cannot be one.

Maybe this other world Savathûn's touched is subordinate to ours after all. Maybe they are the ones who exist in our minds. A dream of a purely material world, adrift in the true cosmos of Light and Dark.

Poor frail dreams. The things she'd do to them…

[sourrcandy]

WTW GHOST GALA ↳ week 01 ; knights

psd template by @destimnesia

day 01. pumpkin carving ; you have to kill off a character, who do you choose?

marcus bryce. for obvious reasons.

day 02. raven ; create a tagline for your wip.

Only in death can one take the mantle.

day 03. crystal ball ; outline a scene, act, or your entire wip.

a sneak peek into chapter 15 (stolen from my outline): following cordelia's announcement, sera goes to maverick to look for aunt regina, who holds the most shares in clemonte corp. we find out that she is an infamous Knight and the hitwoman of the Round Table with high af body counts. she gives sera a warning: with arthur gone, the underworld will only fester and grow more rotten, only when there is a power above to keep them in check will the district run smoothly

day 04. fallen leaves ; create a playlist for your wip.

tide by niki , daddy issues by the neighbourhood , battle royale by apashe and panther , super rich kids by frank ocean , that bitch by bea miller , dictator by rei ami , glory by the score , ain’t it funny by danny brown , kingdom by jaxson gamble , eye for an eye by rina sawayama , don quixote by seventeen , smoke by dynamicduo and lee youngji (watch swf2)

day 05. jack o’ lantern ; share an interesting fact you found while researching your wip.

i am now a botanist /j. but i found out that foxglove flowers (aka digitalis) are poisonous and fatal when ingested. they look pretty but damn, they're deadly.

day 06. vampire ; tell us where you find your motivation and inspiration.

by consuming a ton of media. also when i brain dump on my friends and talk to someone about my wip!! right now, inspiration for knights comes from kdramas ballerina and my name, as well as narcos and mission impossible.

day 07. skeleton ; have a favourite plot structure? if not, share how you plot!

i used to be an pantser, but i have gotten better at outlining. you can say it has become a motivation for me lmaoo. 

day 08. trick or treat ; set some writing goals and milestones for your wip.

the knights wc goal is 150k and i've already only 39k on the doc :( you can tell i've been very slow in progress but hey, we're getting there!! my earliest chapters are like 4-5k average which is a little out of hand BUT i'm hoping to spread out the scenes more and slow down the main 4 protagonists' stupidity lol

gen tag!! (send an ask to be added/removed) @kazino @halcionic @cianawrites @janaisvu @ninazeniks @ambrosiadarling @perditism @serpentarii @seasteading @lasbrumas @sympathyhouse

[multitrackdrifting]

G-Witch EP 15 Thoughts & Review

warning: spoilers for UC timeline as part of my speculation about the end game of the story

Really good no-nonsense episode of G-Witch, naturally some people on socmed were like "idc abt this go back to characters I like", but the literal setting of this story wants you to be cognizant of the fact that it doesn't matter if you like one of the characters, their parents are usually tied up in corruption and sewing the seeds of discord across space.

The time for slice of life is over, the facade of chasing the title of "holder" is over, these are largely a distraction from the real suffering created by the status quo in this universe.

If the narrative beats are too bleak for you idk how to tell you that you're watching a franchise that stands on a legacy of writing about warfare and while the characters are important, the "what" of the world is absolutely essential to those characters - it is not about living a fulfilling school life and never was going to be that. It's more than likely they gave the audience doses of fulfilment specifically to take it away. I criticised how this early setting of the show was likely a facade and now that it is continually shown to be the case people are getting annoyed that G-Witch looks more like every other gundam despite knowing that things have fundamentally changed between seasons. Gundam writing no matter how bad does not dangle the illusion of peace for a super long time, so just let it go and enjoy what the series is as opposed to what you want it to be.

Guel Jeturk is, naturally, walking the path of the GOAT. He's trying to figure out who he is, and he is traumatized from killing his own father. For now, he wants to connect with what his father stood for, but naturally, that may mean reckoning with his corruption and role in the injustice created in the world. This is not new, so don't get too annoyed that he is doing that.

Seeing more death at the hands of spacians has probably coloured in the abstract world of Earthian suffering that Miorine doesn't even understand to the same level. His allegiance going forward is questionable, but I do not doubt we will see him creating instability in the power structure going forward - and don't worry - even if he "dies", he still can come back.

Factions are not hardline restrictions in Gundam, even Shaddiq could become a temporary ally despite everything he has done - McGillis certainly hopped around factions a lot in IBO. Even Char was technically the "good guy" after 79 for a while, but it's not to say that any one side of the conflict is correct, just that the injustices committed during warfare are intrinsic to it.

In Zeta Gundam we're seeing a side of char that has all the qualities of a protagonist, and it's part of his evolution of self - the comparison of Prospera to Char is funny because Char has such a specific evolution that every subsequent "char clone" holds his aesthetics but not his character arc. But the idea of a char clone is that they disrupt the world in a way meaningful to its context so she is one, I'm just saying that Char is poorly understood mostly because people haven't seen UC (and ZZ is impossible to watch on streaming through legal platforms for one reason or another).

Char is working through his ideals and sense of self in a way, going from "icognito fella bent on revenge on the Zabis" to "I'm not sure if I want to take the mantle up" and then of course, we reach end-game Char who wishes to remove Earth from the equation. If the object of desire & conflict is gone, surely this will fix things.

It's a lot more nuanced and comlpicated than that for sure, but Prospera will undergo a few changes, and I believe wholeheartedly there will be faction shifts, and her plan won't just sit in the abstract for a super long period of time.

The Earth-Space conflict in G-Witch is interesting because the Earth Federation is just cartoonishly oppressive in UC, but nothing about Earth is framed that way. It seems that Earth has some kind of puppet government, the benerit group has literal riot mechs made by the Jeturks stopping social instability on there & it honestly seems pretty clear that (for now) the Spacians are resented because Earth is like a colony in UC.

From this episode, it seems that Earth has a lot of pseudo-conflicts [war partioning] to keep them busy and unstable, unable to unite and rebel against the spacians and then there is the Spacians who are so brain dead that they're busy fighting for the title of holder and playing hte zero sum game inside Asticassia because their parents are more obsessed with climbing the ladder than engaging in unregulated profiteering and warfare.

Delling Rembran's big goal in my eyes is not absolute power, but the belief that a big enough deterrent and system of control can end suffering itself and Quiet Zero is that key. As a person who has walked the battlefield and seen the curse of gundams take his close friends and comrades, there needs to be a world without it.

Starting as an ideal, QZ is just an abstract ambition - but having seen UC Gundam my firm belief is that Quiet Zero converts people into Data. The rhetoric used to explain it to Mio in this episode entrenches that belief, "the restoration of human nature", "there was always some new enemy or rebellion".

Aerial itself is a different story, I think it's pretty obvious that Aerial at high permet scores is interacting with "permet" and "augmentations", this is akin to the NewType Destroyer in the Unicorn Gundam. That it can overwhelm and kill people is not that surprising since the Unicorn has way more overpowered abilities (e.g. Time Travel, Time Control, Control Funnels and much more).

Aerial at the moment seems to operate under the principle that none of the G-Witch Timeline (Ad Stella) doesn't have Electromagnetic shielding like other series.

Aerial has a stun wave, and the prev. episode showed how Sophie's death was accelerated by Aerial interacting with "the curse". The appearance that people take on with Permet scores is akin to a circuit, so I think this is all building up to some kind of technology based survival with Quiet Zero - if you have played a certain deep ocean game the concept might not be that foreign to you.

I'm thinking that right now the endgame is that QZ is some kind of device that envelops the entire universe in a data storm and uploads them to some kind of "ark".

The reason the "AI world" theory is so strong for me is that this current series has largely been about transcending the curse of gundams - what if that means binding oneself to a Gundam. Ericht is gone, that much is clear - but in the future, it seems that other people will also be gundams. It's not a new idea to the franchise either.

The reason it's about transcending the curse is because of the virtue held by Gundams and their ability to "enable living in space", and this begs the question, what is Aerial's role in this?

Aerial technology: Bind mankind to machines and transcend physical limits.

Quiet Zero Technology: Either a giant stun wave that completely disables GUND-ARM tech, or converting mankind itself into Data, the ability to live properly in space is probably difficult to achieve because of acts of terror & conflict - the only path forward is to leave behind ones physical body to become one with space.

If nothing else, it seems that physical bodies being left behind is going to be a recurring solution regardless of whether Aerial or QZ is the solution.

In UC Char says that people's souls are held down by gravity, but the hostile nature of space in Ad Stella suggests that we don't need to overcome the curse of space, but the curse of our bodies. That's how I interpret it anyway.

[brm-chemicals]

Decoding the Science Behind Sodium Lauryl Ether Sulfate

Sodium Lauryl Ether Sulfate (SLES) is a chemical compound that has become a cornerstone ingredient in a wide array of personal care and cleaning products. Its widespread use in shampoos, body washes, toothpaste, and detergents is largely due to its potent cleansing properties and ability to produce a rich lather. However, understanding the science behind SLES is crucial for appreciating both its benefits and its potential drawbacks.

What is Sodium Lauryl Ether Sulfate?

SLES is an anionic surfactant, meaning it carries a negative charge. It is derived from ethoxylated lauryl alcohol, which is obtained from either coconut oil or petroleum. The production process involves ethoxylation, where ethylene oxide is added to lauryl alcohol to produce a more water-soluble compound, followed by sulfation, which involves adding sulfuric acid to create the sulfate group. This combination of processes results in Sodium Lauryl Ether Sulfate.

Chemical Properties

Molecular Formula: C₁₂H₂₅O(C₂H₄O)ₓSO₃Na Appearance: Typically appears as a white to yellowish paste or liquid, depending on the concentration.

The ether sulfate group (R-O-SO₃Na) in SLES is crucial for its surfactant properties, which include:

Reduction of Surface Tension: SLES molecules have a hydrophobic (water-repelling) tail and a hydrophilic (water-attracting) head. This structure allows them to reduce the surface tension of water, enabling the formation of micelles that can encapsulate oils and dirt, making them easier to rinse away.

Foaming Ability: The interaction between SLES molecules and water results in the formation of foam. This characteristic is particularly valued in products like shampoos and body washes, where lathering is associated with effective cleansing.

Benefits of SLES

Effective Cleansing: SLES is highly efficient at removing oils, dirt, and impurities from the skin and hair.

Foaming Agent: It creates a rich lather that enhances the sensory experience of using cleansing products.

Cost-Effective: SLES is relatively inexpensive to produce, making it a cost-effective ingredient for manufacturers.

Potential Drawbacks

Despite its advantages, SLES has been the subject of scrutiny for several reasons:

Skin Irritation: SLES can strip away natural oils from the skin, disrupting the skin barrier and potentially leading to dryness, irritation, and sensitivity. This is particularly concerning for individuals with sensitive skin or pre-existing skin conditions.

Environmental Concerns: The production and use of SLES can have environmental impacts. Its biodegradability and the potential for residual ethylene oxide (a carcinogen) or 1,4-dioxane (a possible human carcinogen) in the final product are environmental and health concerns.

pH Disruption: SLES can alter the natural pH of the skin, making it more alkaline and compromising the skin's acid mantle, which is essential for protecting against harmful microorganisms and maintaining moisture.

Mitigating the Drawbacks

Manufacturers often take steps to mitigate the potential negative effects of SLES:

Formulation Adjustments: By incorporating moisturizing agents, pH adjusters, and other soothing ingredients, products can be made gentler on the skin. For instance, adding glycerin or aloe vera can help replenish moisture and support the skin barrier.

Lower Concentrations: Using lower concentrations of SLES can reduce the risk of irritation while still providing effective cleansing.

Alternative Surfactants: In response to consumer demand for milder products, some manufacturers are using alternative surfactants such as Sodium Cocoyl Isethionate (SCI), Decyl Glucoside, and Cocamidopropyl Betaine, which are gentler on the skin and have a lower environmental impact.

Conclusion

Sodium Lauryl Ether Sulfate is a powerful and versatile surfactant that has become a staple in many cleaning and personal care products. Understanding its chemical properties, benefits, and potential drawbacks is essential for making informed choices about the products we use daily. While SLES offers effective cleansing and foaming capabilities, its potential for causing skin irritation and environmental concerns warrants careful consideration. By opting for formulations that balance efficacy with gentleness, consumers can enjoy the benefits of SLES while minimizing its drawbacks.

[fishyfod]

ive seen a few takes going around that winter defected because she saw ironwood as an individual gone wrong and not because she saw the systemic problems of the military. do you have any thoughts on that? im not sure i agree with it because seems to agree with marrow's criticisms even when she pretends she doesnt

Sounds to me like the same folks who kept insisting Winter will turn evil are playing purity games again. They're not wrong per se, I won't argue Winter is the model class of pacifism and anti-militarism, and of course a large part of her defection is because of Ironwood's individual actions. I won't be surprised if in future volumes we sill see Winter retaining some militaristic rhetoric, heck I'm pretty sure she's the commander of whatever remains of the Atlas military.

...did they expect otherwise? Or do her actions count only if her motives are super-duper pure and made in a political vacuum where she realized the military is inherently immoral all by her lonesome? Newsflash: real-life defectors tend to base their defection on concurrent events, like "this war I'm a part of is unjust". They don't wake up one day holding a gun thinking to themselves "oh this is suddenly immoral to me I should stop now". For some people, defection (or refusal to enlist) is a concurrent political act, not because they're anti-military or pacifist. For others, the defection itself might radicalize and turn them anti-militaristic or pacifist. Humans learn by what matters to them now - they experience an individual failing of the military, then they generalize it.

I'm not going to claim Winter is an ideological defector, that's just not true. I will remind you all of her talks with Weiss and Penny throughout V7, and see her doubts in Ironwood building up. I will claim that seeing how Ironwood abused his power on the people of Mantle, the people she loves and herself, had definitely shaken her and made her doubt the system she worked in. I will point out that if Winter saw no faults in the militaristic structure, she wouldn't decide to cooperate with kids and let them run the operation in a decidedly non-militaristic manner.

Separating Ironwood's faults as an individual and Ironwood's faults as exemplary of the faults in the military is removing context, plain and simple. It's trying to single out Winter again, using a flawed line of reasoning that equally works on Marrow, RWBY or JNOR. Heck, it sounds like the same logic RWDE uses to claim RWBY is not anti-racist enough.

I hate to sound like a broken record, but while some of you are probably great experts on redemption of fictional characters, I can't help but feel you know nothing of defection in the real world.

[baoshan-sanren]

Prologue

to the Emperor AU that may never go anywhere because I’m notorious for starting things and never finishing them

It is often said that the time of Empress CangSe SanRen’s sovereignty had been a time of enlightenment. Rising to rule at the end of one war, and not having lived long enough to witness the beginning of the next, the peaceful lull of her reign became an ideal in the minds of many, one that far surpasses the historical reality.

No such benefit had been given to her predecessor, YanLing DaoRen, whose fifty-year bloody reign still resonates a century later. It can be safely said that most rulers prefer to die in one of two ways; on the field of battle, bloodied but unbowed, or in the comfort of their own bed, retaining some dignity in their old age. YanLing DaoRen, deep in the grip of madness, had the benefit of neither. His life had ended at the tip of a dagger wielded by his own flesh and blood, a favorite niece he had doted on until the very end. It must be acknowledged that even as suspicion consumed his whole being, as he burned his own people, beheaded his closest advisors, and burned sects entire to the ground, he never considered removing her as his heir presumptive. He would call out her name when he could longer recall his own, or recognize his own features reflected in the steel of his sword. In the end, when his mind was so far gone, that his power and fury threatened to topple the Immortal Mountain itself, it had been CangSe SanRen alone who could still approach him, without fearing for her life.

The truth of how the deed was done exists in no record, tale, or a song. At the time of the Emperor’s death, the cultivation world had been a wounded beast, uncaring of how the predator perished. They were grateful for their lives, and wanted only to lick their wounds in peace. Empress CangSe SanRen, still a child, received unconditional support from them all, one that would remain steady for years to come.

Old sects rebuilt themselves, and new sects rose from the ashes. Determined to restore the good faith of her people, the Empress allowed unlimited expansion, instituted a system of self-determination, and eliminated overbearing supervision. YanLing DaoRen, xiaoshu who had carried her on his shoulders, taught her the sword, and dried her tears, could no longer be looked upon as a model of governance. All he had constructed, regardless of its benefit, had been corrupted by his madness. One could say she had no choice, but to anchor her reign in flexibility, when his had been known by its constraints. One could say that events which followed her reign had been inevitable, because war follows peace as surely as peace follows war.

Whatever the reasons, a reign that begins with blood tends to end with blood, and hers, in the end, was no different.

--

The time of peace in a land so often saturated with blood is bound to give birth to romantic ideas. One such idea, to elevate the leaders of small, insignificant sects to the Empire’s council seats, had brought Wei ChangZe to the Immortal Mountain. A son of a servant, and a servant himself, he arrived at court with the YunMeng Jiang Sect, and remained there for some months as the Jiang Sect Leader’s unofficial advisor.

It is said that he fell in love at the first sight of the Empress, her beauty rendering him speechless. It is also said that he had despised her vehemently in the beginning, and believed YanLing DaoRen’s bloodline to be corrupted at the core. It is said that CangSe SanRen had fooled him at their first meeting, disguising herself as a rogue cultivator to test the Jiang Sect’s loyalty. It is said that CangSe SanRen had sent Wei ChangZe to the dungeons no less than six times in a single month, for disagreeing with her vocally, and showing no repentance.

Great many things are said of them both, most passed down from servant to servant, from one chatty mouth to another, from cultivators to traders to farmers. Had there been a written record of their romance, it would prove to be just as untrustworthy. For who can say what can be shared in a look or a fleeting touch, what emotion can rise from common ideals, what passion is hidden behind sharp words? A sword fight on a moonlit night is rarely as simple as a clash of steel, and the tumultuous relationship between the Empress and a servant, while more likely to end with a beheading, ended with a marriage instead.

Although the memory of the still recent war had softened the hearts of many, and the cultivation world had sworn to practice forbearance in many matters, it had not been as simple as one would think, to turn a servant into the Emperor Consort. A title and land had to be given, a position secured, and an approval obtained from that same council, which would have never existed but for the grace of the Empress. The matter of Wei ChangZe’s low birth became a bone of contention, one that was hotly debated for months on end, until it seemed that both the Empress and her betrothed would grow old before being allowed to marry. In the end, Jiang FengMian, whose placid nature and extensive knowledge had already placed him in the High Councilor seat, took his own servant for a sworn brother, ending the stalemate once and for all.

A marriage that had caused so much vexation and upheaval had to be a marriage of love, for what other reason would justify such a union? During the reign of CangSe SanRen, a reign determined to thrive on romantic notions, the story of the Empress and her Consort was a favorite tale in every household, told and retold for generations to come. The conviction that their love was of the purest kind did not wane as the years passed, and even their tragic deaths, one so close on the heels of the other, were seen as fated.

For how could one live in the world without the other?

--

The rebellion had begun in QiShan. In view of the fact that most unpleasant things, whether they be laws, customs, or cultivation techniques, historically tended to hail from QiShan, the rebellion itself was no surprise to the cultivation world. Had YanLing DaoRen lived long enough to counsel his niece on the ways of governance, had his mind been clear enough to offer advice borne of experience, perhaps such a thing could have been prevented. For all his madness and corruption, YanLing DaoRen had not ruled with coercion and tyranny because he preferred it over kindness. Instead, he had understood that unlimited expansion, self-determination, and lack of oversight may benefit the sects, but that those things which benefited the sects did not necessarily benefit the Empire. 

Whether CangSe SanRen had never been given a chance to learn this lesson, or whether she had simply chosen to ignore it, this is a matter for historians to debate. The outcome, however, cannot be debated. The rebellion rose, as swiftly as an overdue storm, and a response was mounted to meet it with force. On the third day of the battle between the rebellious QiShan Wen and the QingHe Nie, an assassin long-stationed in the Immortal Mountain for exactly this purpose, killed the Empress and wounded the Emperor Consort so severely, that his death followed hers in a matter of days.

So a reign that started with blood, ended with blood, and more blood was to follow.

--

As any power structure built around a fragile human form is bound to do, the Empire shifted and swayed with the loss, parts of it crumbling, others emerging from the dust.

The assassin, a disgraced member of the Gusu Lan Sect, who had long ago lost the right to wear the sect colors, had nonetheless stained its white silk robes so throughly, that the mark would never truly fade. Forever tarnished by association, the Gusu Lan lost its standing in the cultivation world, its future leaders doomed to a life of shame and disrepute.

The rebellion, which was ruthlessly suppressed, had cost the Nie Sect Leader his life. Even so, it had brought honor and recognition to a Sect of humble roots, lifting the descendants of butchers to unimaginable heights. While the eldest son, Nie MingJue, shouldered the mantle of his father, the youngest son was invited to court, and made the Emperor’s companion for life.

And the YunMeng Jiang Sect, led by Wei ChangZe’s sworn brother, found themselves through a stroke of an assassin’s sword the legal guardians of an Emperor, the sworn protectors of the Heaven-ordained ruler, their power and prestige suddenly unmatched.

The Wen Sect gave up their rebellion and swore fealty. Hostages were taken, and spies planted. The cultivation world took a sigh of relief, and celebrated even as they mourned.

And what of the little Emperor?

What of the twelve-year old boy, orphaned before his time, who had always been quick to smile and quick to forgive?

That is a story that still needs to be told.

[kahuladragon]

In Uttar Pradesh, 1.88 lakh anganwadis out of a sanctioned 1.9 lakh are operating. Some sanctioned centres are inoperative in a few other states too.

Twitter/ @NITIAayog

The Anil Agarwal Foundation, run by Vedanta, and the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation have announced a project in partnership with the Centre to upgrade 500 anganwadi centres in Uttar Pradesh, stirring concerns about the fate of the key welfare programme.

Anganwadis provide supplementary nutrition and several health services to children aged 3 to 6 and their mothers apart from informal pre-school education.

The Anil Agarwal Foundation is the philanthropic arm of mining company Vedanta Ltd, which tried to allay the apprehensions that are being fuelled by a perceived lack of transparency. Compounding the perception challenge is the Narendra Modi government’s ham-handed approach towards privatisation in general, which has made it a controversial subject and source of mistrust.

A stated reason for a corporate role is the government’s inability to provide adequate funds for the welfare programme but it is not clear yet how much money the foundations will invest in the upgrade programme.

Vedanta told The Telegraph the upgraded anganwadi centres would continue to be managed by the staff engaged under the Integrated Child Development Scheme (ICDS) of the ministry of women and child development (MoWCD).

“In collaboration with MoWCD, both the foundations have taken up the mantle of modernisation of the anganwadis with state-of-the-art infrastructure and services to the last mile for women and children,” a Vedanta spokesperson said in an email.

Vedanta added: “Both the foundations are jointly working towards building model anganwadis that can be piloted and replicated. The anganwadi centres are upgraded with infrastructure and amenities and continue to be run by the anganwadi staff of ICDS, MoWCD, for creating greater impact in lives of the women and child beneficiaries.”

The spokesperson said the idea was to upgrade the anganwadis to the level of the Nand Ghars --- child care centres run by Vedanta as a corporate social responsibility. The Vedanta website says it has opened 1,700 Nand Ghars across the country since 2015.

“These anganwadis are being developed as per the MoU between Nand Ghar and MoWCD. The idea behind Nand Ghars is to develop modernised anganwadis that be used as a model for replication across all anganwadis by the Govt,” the email said.

“Global philanthropic institutions like BMGF (Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation) have also offered a helping hand to this initiative. Niti Aayog is doing a study on how the model can be replicated and integrated across the country.”

The Left parties have described the initiative as a move towards privatisation of the anganwadi centres.

“And now, Modi government pushed privatisation of anganwadis after handing over food grains procurement to his corporate friends,” the CPM tweeted on Tuesday.

The CPI said the partnership was part of a government plan to reduce funds for public welfare schemes and gradually withdraw from them.

“The ICDS scheme provides nutrition and early childhood education and care to crores of poor children. Its facilities may not be great but it is running,” A.R. Sindhu, general secretary of CPM labour arm Citu, said.

“There is scope for improvement. But by involving the private companies, the government wants to wash off its role. Ultimately, the welfare scheme will suffer.”

Amarjeet Kaur of CPI workers’ wing Aituc said the government was underfunding the ICDS.

“The government is preparing the ground for privatisation. As of now, it’s unable to give adequate funding. So, many anganwadi centres have a dearth of facilities,” she said.

“After sometime, the government will say the Nand Ghar model is doing well and all the government facilities are redundant. They will close the anganwadis.”

Kaur referred to the recently approved National Education Policy (NEP), which recommends the creation of school complexes that would absorb the anganwadis.

India’s 13.79 lakh anganwadi centres, mostly set up in the rural areas, now operate independently, away from primary schools. The NEP says that spending on teachers and resources for small, one-off schools has become economically unviable.

It suggests “the establishment of a grouping structure called the school complex, consisting of one secondary school together with all other schools offering lower grades in its neighbourhood including anganwadis, in a radius of 5 to 10km”.

Apart from such an arrangement increasing the distance between homes and the anganwadis (and primary schools), activists and Left parties fear the government will hand over the new anganwadis at the complexes to private parties.

Ashok Rao, a social activist associated with the NGO Swami Sivananda Memorial Institute that supplies food to anganwadi centres in Delhi, opposed the closure or privatisation of anganwadi centres.

He said the private sector can be brought in only to help train anganwadi staff or enhance the infrastructure at these centres.

A parliamentary standing committee has highlighted the poor funding for women and children’s welfare.

Its report on the women and child development ministry’s demand for grants for 2020-21 says the overall allocation for the ministry has remained unchanged at around one per cent of the budget for the past five years although women and children make up 67.7 per cent of the population. It calls this “a cause of serious concern and introspection”.

In Uttar Pradesh, 1.88 lakh anganwadis out of a sanctioned 1.9 lakh are operating. Some sanctioned centres are inoperative in a few other states too.

The parliamentary committee has recommended that the ministry take the matter up with the states and try and remove any bottlenecks. It has stressed the need to have more anganwadi centres in urban areas.

An email sent to the woman and child development ministry on Wednesday has remained unanswered.

[mechawaka]

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis​

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate. 

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes. 

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression. 

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance. 

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random. 

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations. 

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him. 

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent. 

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty. 

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild - 

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed. 

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection. 

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out. 

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned? 

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them. 

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move. 

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation. 

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick. 

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded. 

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here. 

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck. 

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light. 

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky. 

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -” 

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory. 

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in. 

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink. 

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

[fysebastianstan]

Sebastian Stan jumped at the chance to try his hand at improvising for the duration of Drake Doremus’ latest relationship drama, Endings, Beginnings. Starring opposite Shailene Woodley and Jamie Dornan, Stan plays an Angeleno named Frank, whose erratic behavior complicates a budding relationship between Daphne (Woodley) and his friend Jack (Dornan). Despite being intimidated by the exercise of improvisation, Stan knew it was important for him to see what he was capable of without the comfort and safety of a script.

“I’ve always felt protected by scripts, lines and scenes. I feel like I’m one of those people who’s opened up much more by scripts. I’m not as witty on my own,” Stan tells The Hollywood Reporter. “This was one of those different experiences, and I would certainly do it again. I’d be curious to see if I could ever use parts of [improvisation] in a bigger movie… So, maybe this was a really training experience for that.”

Until the coronavirus pandemic shut down the entirety of Hollywood, Stan was just a few weeks away from wrapping Marvel Studios’ The Falcon and the Winter Soldier — the MCU’s first foray into scripted television for Disney+. Since many fans have wondered whether the show would maintain the look and feel of its theatrical counterparts, Stan is now shedding some light on how cinematic the streaming show is.

“It felt like both. In a lot of ways, it felt like a movie,” Stan recalls. “What I loved about it was that, tonally, it was very much in the same world that Captain America: The Winter Soldier was, which was one of my favorite experiences that I’ve ever had, period. So, in a sense, it was grounded and very much in the world as we know it. But, it’s also really jam-packed with a lot of massive, massive action scenes mixed with deep focus on character. These characters are getting so much more mileage for all of us to explore them. We can put them in situations that we’ve never been able to put them in before because you now have six hours as opposed to two.”

Now a year removed from the release of Avengers: Endgame, the highest grossing film of all time, questions are still being asked about Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) and Bucky Barnes’ concluding moments. While many fans agree with Rogers’ choice to pass his iconic shield on to Sam Wilson, there’s also a contingent of fans who wanted to see Bucky take on the mantle of Captain America from his best friend. To Stan, Steve was giving Bucky the same gift he gave himself: a life.

“Steve is saying to Bucky, ‘You’re going to go and do that, too. I’m not going to put this thing on you. We’re both going to live our lives — the lives that were actually taken from us back in the ‘40s when we enlisted,’” Stan explains. “So, that’s where I felt they were at the end of the movie. I don’t think there’s a desire or any conflicted thoughts about taking on that mantle. Sam, to me, was always the clear man to take on that mantle for numerous reasons, which also comes with so much more baggage that’s going to be explored in the show. I guess you’ll have to tune into Disney+ to find out why. (Laughs.) At the end of Endgame, for either Steve or Bucky, it’s really not about the shield.”

In a recent conversation with THR, Stan elaborates on the process of improvising an entire movie, the latest with Disney+’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and his interpretation of Steve and Bucky’s last moments in Avengers: Endgame.

How’s everything with you in New York?

It’s alright considering what people are going through out there. I’m pretty lucky. I haven’t been home in a long time so it’s been good to be home. You always feel weird when somebody says you can’t do something; It’s difficult to grasp that quickly. But, in truth, if I wasn’t working and I had time at home, I would probably be doing what I’m doing now. I’m writing, watching a lot of movies and just taking advantage of this time to chill out and get back to being present, something that is more and more difficult in our lives. I’m finding that my motivation is all over the place. Once I get to about 3 o’clock, I’m done for the day because it’s hard for me to get my focus back. So, I try to do all the important bits in the morning. Once in a while, I’ll go out for a run in the very early morning because I know nobody is around here in New York, and I was able to grab a couple of really cool stills of Times Square empty. It’s just weird, but anything to make a day go by. (Laughs.) This is where we’re at.

So, as I said to Jamie, I felt like I was invading the characters’ privacy while watching Endings, Beginnings. Did you feel that level of intimacy as a performer?

Yeah, man, it was extremely intimate right from the beginning. I was familiar with Drake’s work so I kinda had an idea going into it, but I didn’t really know what the process was going to be like. It really just started with this one-on-one meeting that Drake and I had really early on; we ended up talking for three hours about everything, basically. I don’t think either of us are small-talk guys anymore, so that felt very natural. I loved how honest he was about life experience, relationships and the curiosity of it all. So, we really hit it off. When I met him, I think I was trying to sway him to think of me as Jack, Jamie’s character. Personally, I felt a little closer to that character, but when we made the movie, Drake made me believe I was wrong. (Laughs.) We had an outline of what the movie was trying for, but the specificity of the performances, the relationship dynamics and the chemistry really made it feel like we were discovering it in the present moment on the day. There wasn’t a lot of rehearsal. Shailene came in late in the movie, and we probably had about two weeks where we were kind of rehearsing and just getting to know each other a little bit. The rest was a day-to-day, on-set trial and error in order to see what would light people up.

Since you had just come off a string of massive Marvel movies, was it nice to get back to basics with a film like this, so to speak?

Well, yeah, it’s just different. Particularly in the last two years for me, I’ve been so much more aware of directors like never before. I’ve desperately wanted to work with very specific directors — Drake being one of them. Then, when you go on that set with a specific director you’ve wanted to work with, they have a very specific vision, and I just immediately know that I’m going into somebody’s very specific vision. On the bigger movies, for example, I had a relationship with the Russos over three movies, and I knew the way they were working. Every time, I sort of felt like we were picking it back up again, but just in terms of format, structure and overall scope, I knew they were making a very different movie each time. On these little movies, sometimes, the director can take these very specific points of views, and you’re just in the hands of that. That’s what makes the experience different because it’s that director’s vision, and it’s very oriented to that particular person. That’s how I felt with Drake, and that’s how I imagine other specific directors are. I recently worked with Antonio Campos [on The Devil All the Time], who’s another director whose movies I love, and I’ve always wanted to work with him. Again, he has a very specific approach, vision and how he wants the thing to look and feel. You kind of just surrender to that.

When your character, Frank, first meets Shailene’s character, Daphne, at the New Year’s Eve party, they jokingly put distance between one another. Since many of us are now watching entertainment through our present-day lens, have you realized how ahead of the curve you were in this case?

(Laughs.) I didn’t even think about that; you’re right. It’s interesting to think because we don’t know, really, what the ramifications of this social distancing will be. We may still feel the effects of it well into the next couple years. It’s going to be a while before we get life back to “normal,” but will it ever really go back to normal? That’s the stuff that remains to be seen. I can definitely see a world where people are much more conscious about personal space, perhaps. I don’t know. Shailene and I were talking in another interview the other day, and I was like, “Listen, I know you’re a hugger — and so am I — but do you think people are going to want to be hugged by us after this?” I don’t know.

At least we can now opt not to shake hands without offending anyone.

Well, apparently, no one liked that. I was not aware that that was not a fun thing to do. Yeah, that might be gone at this point.

I got a kick out of Frank’s The Pianist reference. Did you name a different movie for each improvised take?

(Laughs.) No, that was the only time I referenced a movie. Every time it was different. One of the things that I learned with Drake really early on was to never try and do something that worked, again. That reference worked; I didn’t know he was gonna use it. Doing it again — even remotely getting close to it — goes against his way of working. You’re just recreating a moment, and he wants everything to be very fresh and in the moment. I have a friend who always picks on me for watching heavy, intense, dramatic movies by myself at home on the weekends. He just makes fun of me all the time. So, the reference came from that. I love all movies, but I just love watching the heavier dramatic movies. (Laughs.) So, it came from remembering that in the moment and just saying it. It was odd enough, but it made it.

I asked Jamie this question, but I’d like to get your take as well. How do you ensure that you’re improvising as the character and not as Sebastian?

That’s the problem. I don’t know. Even though we’re improvising as honestly as possible, we’re still kind of doing it with a direction from the outline. I think that is what gives it an element that’s still affected rather than me just going up there and saying how I feel. And then, in the editing room, which is what makes Drake brilliant at this, he finds the moments; the way he cuts is just fascinating to me. I remember saying to him, “Drake, no take is the same. I don’t know how you’re going to cut this. It’s impossible.” And yet, he made it work. He found the conversation, and he found the moments. He’s got a very specific way of cutting that I love which is the reactions and so on. He really filtered those performances in the editing room as well. There was a lot of back-and-forth dialogue between me and Shailene that never made it, but again, it’s about him picking what he feels is right for who each character is.

Did you have any history with improvisation before this experience?

No, not at all.

Were you intimidated by it?

I definitely was. Absolutely, I was. I didn’t have an audition for the movie, but I had that three-hour session with Drake where we talked about different things and topics. I think he was just curious to see how honest our conversation could go, and I just wasn’t afraid of that. It was very scary at the beginning. It’s that question you asked, where you go, “Well, this isn't really who I am. I don’t do these things that this character does.” I’ve always felt protected by scripts, lines and scenes. I feel like I’m one of those people who’s opened up much more by scripts. I’m not as witty on my own. This was one of those different experiences, and I would certainly do it again. I’d be curious to see if I could ever use parts of it in a bigger movie. Believe it or not, on those bigger projects, you do use improv. You do the scenes a couple times. You get it as it’s written on paper, and then you say, “Let’s just do this one more time and try it out this way. Let’s just see what happens and then we have it.” Sometimes, that ends up in the movie because it’s weirdly a sort of wildcard. So, maybe this was a really training experience for that.

Shifting gears to some obligatory Marvel questions… Did you shoot The Falcon and the Winter Soldier like a TV show or movie?

It felt like both. In a lot of ways, it felt like a movie. Again, we’re not finished; we still have some stuff to do. What I loved about it was that, tonally, it was very much in the same world that Captain America: The Winter Soldier was, which was one of my favorite experiences that I’ve ever had, period. So, in a sense, it was grounded and very much in the world as we know it. But, it’s also really jam-packed with a lot of massive, massive action scenes mixed with deep focus on character. That’s what’s really exciting about this. We’re getting to keep it in the world of the movies, so it’s recognizable that way, but at the same time, these characters are getting so much more mileage for all of us to explore them. We can put them in situations that we’ve never been able to put them in before because you now have six hours as opposed to two. It’s always a discovery.

Prior to the shutdown, is it true that you were only a week away from wrapping?

No, we were probably at least two or three, but don’t quote me on that.

At the end of Avengers: Endgame, between the dialogue and your performance, it seemed pretty cut and dried that Bucky knew about Steve’s plan to remain in the past with Peggy (Hayley Atwell). Were you surprised that some people didn’t entirely pick up on that?

I don’t know if I was surprised. The Internet completely misconstrued something else and made it entirely into something that it wasn’t, but later, I sort of became aware that people really felt like we needed to have more between the two of them or something. But, it hadn’t occurred to me because at the same time, that scene was saying so much with subtext. That being said, how do you put it all together in a three-hour movie? To merge all those different stories together, you could’ve had another movie of everybody saying goodbye to each other. So, I love how much people care about those two characters and that they wanted more from them, but I just took it as “This is as much screen time as we’ve got left before the movie ends.” It was already such a long movie. And then, it’s just the knowledge that these guys have always known each other’s moves, so to speak. They knew each other so well that they could say, “Okay, I know what he’s going to do, what decisions he’s going to make and I support that.” Yeah, it’s just what it was. That’s what was on the page, and that’s what we shot.

Bucky hugged Steve and said he was gonna miss him. To me, it’s crystal clear that you played it as knowing Steve’s intent.

Oh, a thousand percent, yeah. I played it as goodbye. What I was playing was, “Okay, I know he’s going, and he’s not going to come back. I can’t talk about it, because if I do, then they’re going to try and stop him from doing what he wants to do. So, I’ve gotta support that.” That’s what I was playing in the scene. Suddenly, when he shows back up again, I’m playing it like, “Oh! Well, he didn’t tell me he was gonna do that. I knew he was gonna leave, and even though I knew what he was going to do with the shield, I didn't know he was gonna pop up over there now and be older.” So, I was playing that. Look, I love a good scene with dialogue, but sometimes, I find it really interesting when there’s not a lot said. And funnily enough, it’s sort of been the trademark of Bucky. Then, you’re watching behavior, you’re watching the eyes and you’re wondering what they’re thinking. You’re more involved and tuned in. So, it’s always fun for me to try to do as much as I can without dialogue. It’s exciting as an actor because then I wonder what people are getting out of it. In that aspect, it’s fun.

Some people still lament the fact that Steve didn’t give Bucky the shield in order to take on the mantle of Captain America. Bucky may have been brainwashed, but Captain America is such a symbolic position that you can’t just write off fifty years of transgressions by The Winter Soldier. I also have a hard time imagining that Bucky would even want that role. Since you know Bucky best, what’s your impression of Steve’s choice?

The MCU — as I saw it from my humble perspective — is a bit different in that regard to the comics. Where we arrived with him at the end felt more like he was in a place with a desire for some sort of release: to start over, start life again in a way, find out who he is again on his own and leave all this behind. Yes, it all happened, but at some point, you gotta own your mistakes, what happened and try to start over. That’s where I felt like the character was at the end of Avengers: Endgame. It’s also what he wanted for Steve. Like anybody that ends up traumatized by a war experience, he was affected by it for the rest of his life. So, what felt like a desire there was for a restart — for him and for Steve in a way. It didn’t necessarily feel like the shield was gonna be that. Steve going back in time and saying, “I’m gonna take something for me now. I’ve been here for all these guys, and I’ve done the best I could. I’m just a man, and I’m going to go back and try to live my life.” I feel that is something that Bucky would want for his best friend, and at the same time, Steve is saying to Bucky, “You’re going to go and do that, too. I’m not going to put this thing on you. We’re both going to live our lives — the lives that were actually taken from us back in the ‘40s when we enlisted.” So, that’s where I felt they were at the end of the movie. I don’t think there’s a desire or any conflicted thoughts about taking on that mantle. Sam, to me, was always the clear man to take on that mantle for numerous reasons, which also comes with so much more baggage that’s going to be explored in the show. I guess you’ll have to tune into Disney+ to find out why. (Laughs.) At the end of Endgame, for either Steve or Bucky, it’s really not about the shield.

I really loved Destroyer, and I thought you were great in it. It continues to blow my mind that Karyn Kusama isn’t able to do whatever she wants. Granted, she just got Universal’s Dracula…

I already emailed her about that. I said, “You know I’m from Romania, right?” and she goes, “Yes, yes, it’s very early — and there’s a pandemic. Hopefully, we’ll see you in four years.” (Laughs.)

What comes to mind when you reflect on that experience and working with Karyn?

Thank you for mentioning that movie. I love that movie, I love her and I had such a great time on it. I would love to keep finding projects with her — projects that kind of push you in a different direction. Again, this goes back to your earlier questions about these smaller movies, and I was referencing the vision of a director, how important that is and sometimes surrendering to that. That’s what that movie was for me. Karyn saw this character and movie in a certain way, and it was my job to learn that world, the tone and fit into it. I loved her as a director because she was so specific with me from the get-go. She also really allowed me to discover it on my own. We talked about the tattoos, the look, his history… It was very collaborative before we started, and then, when we started, it was actually very specific. She was one of those directors that made me feel so safe and confident in my choices, simply by the way she communicated with me. I think that came from her absolute confidence in what she wanted and what she saw. I really wish more people had seen that movie. Maybe they have by now; I don’t know. And obviously — Nicole Kidman. It was one of those dreams to work opposite her. It was a good package.

***

Endings, Beginnings is now available on digital HD and VOD on May 1.

[morwensteelsheen]

WIP wednesday thoughts:

willow cabin is utterly fucked because i changed my intended ~moral~ halfway through and now im stuck trying to integrate this shitty political intrigue plot into what should’ve been a more interesting story about éowyn adapting to life in gondor. hugely fucking annoyed by it and just totally unsure how to proceed. i could significantly increase the chapter count, but im worried that because the initial framing device was this bandits shit that closing out that plot and then still going for ages afterwards would be really shitty? i honestly don’t know, it’s so difficult. really i just need someone to read my outline and tell me if im being a dumb twat about it lol

meanwhile I know exactly where I want to go with AFTA but for some unaccountable reason im stressed that my ass is gonna get roasted for the direction i want to take it in. it’s all based in both tolkien’s personal politics and (some) historical precedent, but im worried people are gonna see it as a marysue-ification? but also im hoping to do sthg of a sequel to afta to practice the political intrigue writing so i don’t make the same mistakes i did in wc, and to do that it would require this specific set up in AFTA. im gonna put my AFTA thing under the cut so don’t click read more unless you’re gucci with potential AFTA spoilers!!

this royal affair au is definitely gonna get published at some point but im trying to decide if i want to do ~tasteful~ smut that drives a longer narrative or if im really just gonna do a whole 3,000 word build up to some run of the mill, old fashioned PWP lmao

okay so i have spent a Lot of time thinking about what impact i think éowyn and faramir would have on each other in a pre-ring war setting, and the honest to god conclusion ive come to is that they would somewhat inadvertently egg on each other’s (wildly divergent) idealism.

faramir’s an idealist politically in ways that, as Big D rightly points out, are not super productive in a wartime scenario. but so far as im concerned, the war doesn’t feel as warlike until they have to blow the bridge at osgiliath. until that point, there’s not really anything to say that faramir’s whole throwback optimism isn’t a perfectly justifiable position to have.

but what that idealism is and how it manifests are two really important considerations. the crux of his idealistic politics is that he looks at númenor and sees something valuable in it, and looks at gondor and sees a lot that he thinks is fucked up. outside of articulating a general angst towards the glory hunting, it’s not like he’s spending time talking about his specific policy prescriptions. however, we do know a few things that can guide us to a more coherent reconstruction of his politics:

he’s pretty rigidly hierarchical (when it’s convenient for him). as seen in: him basically telling sam to fuck off and stay in his lane in WOTW, and in how and when he chooses to refer to his father as ‘father’ vs ‘my lord’ or ‘lord of the city’ in the aftermath of the osgiliath retreat and then before he gets his ass sent back there. i don’t want to go into too much detail here but if i go with this i’ll definitely justify it more thoroughly in the footnotes.

so we’ve got faramir’s emphasis on hierarchy and his occasional (when convenient) belief that the upper echelons of a hierarchy are there because they’re intellectually and/or morally better. or, maybe to remove the causation from that instance, because they are in those upper echelons, they have an obligation to be more morally/intellectually upstanding, and the people in the structure below them have an obligation to show deference. unless you’re faramir and you’re dealing with denethor in which case that all goes out the window. classic.

we know there is some sort of nascent pseudo-democratic tradition of popular sovereignty in gondor. we know this because faramir asks the masses at aragorn’s coronation if they’ll accept him as king. faramir is a lot of things, but he is certainly not a progressive political radical, and i cannot imagine any situation in which he cooked up that rigmarole himself. that then implies to me that it’s building on some sort of political/cultural expectation in gondor. so: some sort of relationship to popular legitimacy. the people of gondor are subjects, but perhaps not as totally passive and unconsidered in the power structure as we might assume given the comparability to feudal europe/asia.

given those two things, i want to use AFTA to argue:

that faramir, in looking to assign blame for the faults he sees in gondor, would not directly assign blame to the lower classes, but rather to the aristocracy, because he will have seen them as failing in their moral obligations to the people they rule over. this is not to say that he isn’t fucked off about The People™ valorising war, but i think he’d take the position that they couldn’t possibly be expected to form those values and opinions of their own volition, and the fault lies in their rules. faramir: not gramscian.

faramir lacks any power that is non-military, and even that is of questionable worth because the rangers seem to be fairly distinct to the general structure of the army, and are not exactly a huge force.

faramir lacking any political power isn’t necessarily a huge concern for him (as in, he’s not actively trying to change that), because he knows he’s not going to lead a moral revolution and isn’t interested in taking up the responsibilities having political capital would engender because he’s stuck dealing with this war, that he fucking hates btw has he mentioned that he hates it?

however, given that he is apparently eminently versed in lore and scholarship, he is probably keenly aware that there is this incipient notion of popular legitimacy somewhere in gondor’s culture. it’s not, for most of his life, knowledge that actually does anything for him, but it is there.

éowyn, meanwhile, doesn’t really have many strong political convictions (yet). not because she’s a dumbass or whatever, but because she looks at court politics as kind of a farce, and doesn’t believe that power legitimately emanates from anywhere that isn’t a Big Fucking Army. and why, strictly speaking, would she not think that? the event that brought about the creation of her kingdom was not careful, soft spoken negotiation, it was her ancestors being in the right place at the right time with a Big Fucking Army.

and the internal politics of the Riddermark actually seem to be fairly stable, all things considered. i sincerely doubt that Théoden or Théodred are having to negotiate complex politicking in the way Denethor and Boromir are. so where, then, would éowyn see that kind of political behaviour outside gondor? with gríma.

éowyn, then, will see the immediate contrast between gríma (backroom dealer, manipulator extraordinaire) and théoden (owner of Big Fucking Army). and gríma goes and fucking wins that fight. that forces éowyn to confront the fact that, jesus christ, maybe there are different types of power.

at the same time, she’s going to be in minas tirith and needing to cover for théoden letting his shit get wrecked. not just because she’s prideful, which of course she is, but because if denethor/gondor think that théoden is too weak to hold up his end of the bargain, why would they ever go help the Mark? éowyn, seeing that théoden’s f-f-fucked, knows that there’s a very very good chance the Mark will need help.

against her feelings about courtly politics, she starts to accept that she’s going to need to do something to get power in gondor. not anything substantial, it’s not like she’s trying to overthrow anybody, but enough that when push comes to shove she can force denethor to help out the Mark (if he doesn’t do so willingly).

but, as ive sort of already shown in AFTA, she’s a bit of a dogshit diplomat. good for a little big-brawny-enforcer stuff, but not exactly brimming with cultural sensitivity. by the time she realises théoden + the Mark are fucked, she’ll have burnt quite a few bridges with the gondorrim nobles, and it’s not like she’s the sort of person to go running cap-in-hand begging for mercy.

so: she has to look elsewhere. and wow! a chance for faramir to do his favourite thing — talk about his opinions! and by god, his weird idealistic politics are… actually kind of helpful? because he’s like, look, you’re never gonna be a diplomat, but there are other ways of consolidating power. and one of those ways is by appealing to The People™. so why not work that angle?

and actually, we know that this is a viable route for éowyn because hama, in arguing for her to take up the mantle of théoden’s heir when théoden and éomer fuck off to helm’s deep, basically says that The People™ love her and would have willingly chosen her to lead them.

we also know, based on faramir’s middle men speech, that the people of gondor and the mark have grown alike in nature. not totally unreasonable to then think that the people of gondor would take to her like the people of the mark did.

éowyn, then, in various ways begins to try to win over the people of minas tirith. i need to do a little more research on this bc what ive got on the practicalities of that so far are a bit, uhhh, sketchy, but the least jargony way to describe this is to point to when natalie dormer’s character in GOT gets out of the carriage to go hug and kiss some babies. (marc bloch, eat your heart out)

this would later segue into a potential sequel where, while trying to secure the way for aragorn’s coronation, éowyn actually plays an interesting role because she’s fallen into this incidental Diana, People’s Princess™ role and so is better positioned than almost anyone to go advocate on his behalf. wow! cool! éowyn getting to be politically useful in more ways than just getting hitched!

so yeah. that’s how i am thinking it might play out. this would obviously have a rolling impact on the remainder of AFTA and how certain (🔥) events pan out later, but i think that building up part has to begin pretty much now, narratively. also this lets me get in a reference to “and then her heart changed, or else at last she understood it” and have it not be almost entirely about wanting to shag faramir, but actually about her gradual evolution from valorising war above all else to being like, hmm, maybe there are other ways of being powerful. which i think still largely captures the “no longer I will vie with the great riders” stuff, but more subtly and without feeling quite so… deferential, I guess? Like it’s not that she’s swapping one form of power (violence) for nothing (gardening?? healing?? tolkien accidental articulation of necropolitics??) but swapping violence for a different type of more sustainable power.

yeah. that’s the take, basically. who fucking knows.