for all that is lost

Sigurd of Chalphy, a Knight of Seiros || a closed Fire Emblem RP blog affiliated with TOA [ Current threads ]

[bxldrsdraumar]

bxldrsdraumar pinned

Sigurd of Chalphy, a Knight of Seiros affiliated with The Officer's Academy

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Some portrayal notes under the cut, and patch notes here.

Sigurd has been here before, and has died multiple times. If you need me to tag mentions or allusions to them due to the violent or disturbing nature (namely, immolation and starvation), or if you need me to back off on them, let me know.

He's a little fuzzy from dying and being resurrected, so his memory of select muses and their history together will be there, but it will be spotty. I discuss this with my partner on a case by case basis.

This is a big one: he has remembered that Arvis is the one who killed him, but he doesn't know why this happened. He's mildly curious as to why, but I won't be taking on threads with those who know specifics until an Arvis comes in, at which point I will discuss it with that mun. This is due to the way this situation was handled during his last two runs, and I'm not terribly interested in rehashing all of that.

Sigurd is aware that Arvis and Deirdre were married, but he frankly doesn't care that much. He has his family back.

Sigurd has been resurrected via the blood of a Nabatean, specifically Seiros. The consequences of this are generally in line with Three Houses lore, such as (but not limited to): no longer aging physically, needing less sleep, not being able to be intoxicated by alcohol, and other enhanced physical abilities such as strength and stamina. (NOTE: This had been discussed extensively with a previous Rhea mun, but if a new Rhea comes in and decides this is not a path they want to take, I am content to retcon this aspect of my portrayal.)

In a similar vein as the last point, due to the combination of the transfused Seiros blood, and his already extant Major Baldr blood, Sigurd is hardier and stronger than many might remember him. He has a tendency to greet people with bear hugs.

In addition, due to the possible volatility of the combination of these different flavors of dragon blood, when Sigurd rolls a nat 20 for interactions, I flavor these as him becoming slightly more dragon. I discuss these instances with my partner when they happen.

And for a little more dragon flavor: sharp-eyed muses might notice that Sigurd has silvery burn scars all over his body due to his method of death. On his extremities they look like normal burn scars, but closer to his pelvis, ribs, and collar they look more geometric and scale-like in shape.

[encantresse]

@bxldrsdraumar sent: [ ADRESTIA ] - A court dance that has spread like wildfire through Fódlan ballrooms. This waltz is best known for a special move that calls for the partners to join hands, together forming the shape of a bird in flight.

he's awfully handsome. what a bother.

"good evening, sigurd. i hope you've been enjoying yourself so far."

dorothea curtsies politely and assumes her station, one outstretched arm braced against his as they wait for the orchestral accompaniment.

maybe this wouldn't be awkward had it not been for their unexpected run-in months prior—and how very fortunate that linhardt's first instinct was to warp the man away before she'd thought to use thoron! what a disaster it would've been to put a beloved husband and father in the infirmary over a simple misunderstanding.

( she'd even threatened the man! called him...despicable. )

her own gaffe aside, the callback to that cringeworthy memory brings about a touch of embarrassment. a stranger she is not to the sights of intimacy, though to stumble upon such a thing so abruptly still leaves dorothea's cheeks faintly flushed.

"...has professor deirdre taught you the steps? it's as straightforward as any other waltz."

( despite everything, there's an inkling of nosiness that lingers. )

"you know, she tends to be a popular pick during the ball. everyone wants to dance with her. some partners are more flirtatious than others — you must've seen them already." something about the way she says this feels suggestive of something.

[bxldrsdraumar]

The curtsey was met with a bow, precise from the hip, and as he rose to extend his hand toward to, to anchor her before the steps of the dance began properly, Sigurd offered her a loose smile.

“Good evening - Dorothea, isn’t that right? Better circumstances to meet and to become acquainted under, I’m sure you’d agree. You look lovely - the dress is a fine color.”

If he held any shame for the manner of their previous encounter, he certainly did not show it, and waited for her hands to settle on him - shoulder, guiding hand - before his own hovered a milimeter over her waist. His eyes creased, friendly and warm.

“Ready?”

Her steps held the practiced confidence of someone used to putting on a show, and his more than held pace. In spite of the dance’s differences, one waltz often harkened to another, like to like, and at her question he let out a bright laugh.

“It was her marriage to me that actually taught her to dance to begin with. I wouldn’t claim to be the one to teach her myself - I believe it was…goodness, whichever steward attended us in Evans, I suppose. We stayed there for a time, before she grew ill with child.”

The flurry of skirts swept along the marble at their feet, angling them perfectly in sight of those that, he suspected, she was so keen to point out to him - and at this, too, he laughed, and dipped his head in closer to lower his voice to a whisper.

“Do you know, I am not so worried. Cad though I might be, I love her more than my own heart - and, I’m led to believe, she with hers. There is nothing that could come between us.”

A flourish to the rise of the strings, a confident end note to punctuate his own confidence. Another bow, this time with a wink, and Sigurd cocked his head as he turned to walk away.

“Well. Except for a well-placed bit of magic.”

[mxlusine]

[ RENAIS ] - A choreographed dance from rural Renais. Two rows of partners stand opposite of each other, dancing as they move closer and away from each other like waves upon a shore.

She does not like this dance.

Or, in truth: she doesn't like many dances, but she greatly dislikes this one in particular for how often he drifts away from her. Close. Far. Close. Far.

(Close: Florra Port is burning, and he is by her side. He doesn't talk, and he doesn't question; he simply rides with his sword raised high, both her aegis and her vanguard.

Far: He is bright-eyed and distant. I have never encountered someone of your like, he says, and she almost thinks to laugh. No, she does not say; that is because there is no one quite like me.)

"I once knew a man who might have danced like you," she says, when they draw close and stay; when their feet sweep across the floor and they sway in perfect tandem, every bit like the foam that clings stubbornly to the rocky shore. It is a strange thing to say—to know someone but not, to open with familiarity and depart with the nescience of something never known. "It's a shame. Seeing you almost makes me miss him."

Then they draw away—him the sea, her the shore. The currents pull and drag and make it so that no same wave will ever crash against the same rocks.

Zephia speaks the truth, but never the whole truth. She does not care for either him or him; does not care for Sigurd the Knight of Seiros nor for Sigurd the Holy Knight. He is nameless and featureless and meaningless beyond the weight of his blade.

So, then, what is it that she misses? For she does miss something, even if she can't grasp what.

(Close: he lingers like a phantom, for phantoms have always survived longer than people.

Far: He is a man, and he is alive, and he is terribly forgettable for it all.)

[bxldrsdraumar]

It was not merely the music or the steps that drew them together, although he rather found that the rhythm of push and pull was something that they would become accustomed to if they weren’t careful with one another.

Sigurd suspected that she would not be so careful, and yet it was her pull to his push that had caught them in these steps - not merely here on the ballroom floor (close - far - ), but out in the streets of the market town, along the cobblestone paths around the monastery.

The magnetic tug of one another from across the hall, where their eyes could not have met until they drew - 

(Close. Far.)

“I’m certain you’ve known many men to dance like me,” Sigurd replied, more curt than he intended, and dishonest to boot. False-modesty was not something that he practiced, and he knew what his body was capable of, when he put his mind to it. Once he learned the steps to a dance, he could not forget them, and he would deliver them with the precision due his noble house.

There was silence in her admission - not just his reaction, but in the space of it, in the emptiness that hovered over its shoulder, a presence in a void that he couldn’t uncover.

(Close.

Far.)

“But…if I can for a moment fill his shoes. Then I would be happy to.”

[diadic]

@bxldrsdraumar sent: [ SWEET BUN TRIO ] - Three delicious, bite-sized buns from Faerghus. The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top. ( ethereal ball — first half. )

    “...! Lord Sigurd!” Leif steps back away from the table he'd been hovering at when he notices the holy knight approach. On the table? Sweets of various kinds line it, but the particular section of said dessert table that the prince had been inspecting holds rectangular plates guests can pick up and carry; upon each plate are three bite-sized buns, allowing guests to sample a trio of fillings and toppings— a classic dish at Garreg Mach's many Ethereal Balls.

And a dish Leif hadn't been quick enough to swipe before his lord uncle had made his presence known. Before sweets and self-indulgences come greetings. Of course. Though Leif doesn't let his disappointment show outwardly, playing the polite nephew, there's still undeniably a part of his spirit that has sunken.

(Just a little bit of time...)

“Good evening. Are you looking for Lord Seliph??” he asks, presuming all on his own the man's intentions. The man is well-aware the two of them have met in some capacity in the past, so if Sigurd has sought out Leif as a way to bridge the gap using that, then that logic made sense to the prince.

Or maybe, based on the lilac hues of the man's tunic—

“...Or Lady Deirdre??”

(The color of a man who thinks much of his lady love, Leif thinks; Leif could, embarrassingly, relate.)

[bxldrsdraumar]

“Oh, don’t worry yourself over it. I have seen them both, I assure you.”

What a habit, this young man had formed, his sister’s son - to constantly put himself out of the needs of those who sought out his company.

“No, as a matter of fact, I had come to say hello to you - you look quite fine in white. You…your father always did, and Ethlyn as well.”

Before the moment could become too tender, too sentimental, lest the boy dash out from underneath him, Sigurd clapped his hands together, as though in preparation and glanced about.

“And I suspect you are here with a date of your own? That lovely blonde girl, isn’t it? I believe I met her, just the once…when I returned -” He trailed off and his brow pinched, as though he did not know how to finish the sentence, cocking his head almost doglike.

“Well, I won’t keep you - a young man must go off on his own, to become who he will, with whom he might. I had just hoped for a moment to say how glad I am to see you, and to perhaps spare a moment to share a bite to eat with you.”

[virtuoustyrfing]

@bxldrsdraumar sent:

[ SHAVED ICE ] - Served with a wide assortment of sweet, fruity syrups. Traditionally, it is served in bowls, but some are saying it makes for quite a refreshing sip when drank from a glass.

"Father, over here!" Seliph perks up when he spots his father. Soft clinks of a spoon against the rounded edges of a bowl cease for a moment. He waves the man over. You see, he was in the middle of mixing blueberry-flavored syrup with shaved ice.

"Is Mother somewhere nearby?" He peers around the man before turning his gaze back to him. "I should ask her for a dance once I see her... In any case, would you like shaved ice as well? Food variety is a little sparse this year for some reason..."

He nods towards the snack table.

"There are quite a few syrups to choose from. I don't mind pouring some for you."

[bxldrsdraumar]

“Your mother? Yes, I’m certain she’d be delighted to see you - you do look handsome, don’t you? I would be remiss not to say that you look just like her, but I daresay that she would not appreciate being called handsome.”

His laughter undermined the statement, and in truth he suspected that Deirdre would not have minded terribly - a kind word for a kind thought, in the manner that they often exchanged. Still, Sigurd patted his son’s shoulder conspiratorially, and looked over them to see what it was that he was working with.

“Ah! I have seen these amongst - well, I suppose not high feasts, but certainly parties of the nobility. Having spent as much time in Silesse as I have, it’s hard to imagine that ice would be so expensive for the southern countries, but there you have it. I…could not imagine that you were able to have much of this, in Isaach.”

His voice grew quiet for a moment, eyes flicking downward to watch the mixture of the syrup, slick over the jagged surface of the ice, melting delicately into something fresh and new.

After a beat, Sigurd’s grin was back in place. “And it is meant to be drank? With a straw? I would love whatever you would like to give me, Seliph. Whichever is your favorite.”

For if he had been asked, Sigurd would not have been able to provide that answer;

What was his son’s favorite?

This was something he would very much like to know.

[ulirblood]

let's just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore — sigurd & edain

[ulirblood]

“you certainly acted like you didn't.” she huffs, looking away from him for a moment. the more she had time to think and realize the further and further she was growing embarrassed for exploding like that on him.

when she looks back at him this time, his finger glides under the eye she hadn't wiped at– lone tear dispersing from the gentle touch. 

once again, his warmth.

“lord sigurd…” she finally murmurs his name with the proper kind and soft tone that he might have known her for back then.

she can't stop herself from stepping forward and against him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck (even now he was much taller than her) and digging her face into his chest.

“please just allow me this for a moment.” her voice comes muffled– from a mixture of her tears and the way she holds onto him.

[bxldrsdraumar]

He nearly asked in what manner she would have had him behave, to sufficiently convince her that he knew that he had been a dead man, but it wasn't the point, entirely – their reactions had stemmed from the same things, in the end. He, with his desire to continue living, and she, with her desire for his death not to be disrespected. 

The horses did not help. That he had to admit. 

They had been terribly quiet as this discussion had been going on, and when their frustrations were settled Sigurd resolved to give them a gift, for their patience and understanding. It was not everyday that two old friends could reunite in such a manner, and it was no one's fault that it needed coincide with their strike. 

Still, when one nickered awkwardly, tilting its head as though about to ask if they were all right, or perhaps could get a move on, Sigurd winced briefly and brought a finger to his lips, and gestured to Edain in his arms. 

The horse snorted, shaking its mane out and pawed at the ground gently before it strode forward and bumped against the wall of the stall. 

"Excuse me, I hate to barge into such a touching scene – madam, you may take as long as you'd like, of course, for whatever this man has done, but it is quite rude to do so here, when our discussions have been parlayed into his hands. We're still waiting for what's been promised." 

"Ah-hah." Sigurd smiled. "Please – we know that you are all experiencing a matter of injustice, and I assure your needs will be met. Once hers are." 

[bxldrsdraumar]

May 2026 Activity Check

-PASSED- 

Skill Points Earned:   Monthly +1 Any Skill -> Lance +1 (x) 38 -> 40

Allocated:   Lance C -> C+

Rank Rewards Earned: Playbill of a Farce (Ethereal Ball 2026)

[hresvelged]

@bxldrsdraumar sent: [ PHOTO-ARTIFEX ] - The ever-popular photo-artifex makes its annual return, allowing users to capture pictures in as little as a flash of light and a moment. Take home something to remember the event by!

The light flashes; the people's laughter erupts as if there is not a care in the world. She's almost jealous.

"Thank you for agreeing to accompany me," she says as the line in front of the photo-artifex beings to shrink. Adjusting the flowers in her hair and the earrings dangling at her side, she peers at two young friends smiling and laughing in front of what she waits for. One holds up her bouquet ready to toss it. The other covers her mouth in a fit of giggles. It's difficult not to notice the sheer way they melt into the florals behind and above.

As the princess stands there with Sigurd on her right, she begins to realize exactly why she was so fascinated with this device. It was not for the fear of forgetfulness, but the grounding and proof she has in her humanity. Edelgard lifts her head up to meet his: "— I don't suppose there are any devices like this in Jugdral." Her voice is much the lightened fluctuation as it was the day she climbed that snowy mountaintop.

When the girls shuffle off to the side, Edelgard is quick to take their place. "Well. We ought to try before this line grows any longer. I'll be keeping a copy, if you don't mind."

[bxldrsdraumar]

"I must thank you, for allowing me to join." There was always a need to match, not just to receive, with this one. She liked to take the lead, but it was equally imperative that there be something to lead, some initiative to drive forward in the first place.

Of this, he had plenty. And of memories, he could have more.

The girl had impressed him, time and again - and, he hoped, he to her.

Hers was a rare smile that was hard to earn. Far be it for him to feel the need to capture it in the moment, but at least the shade of it, lest darker times make them both forget what it looked like.

"Your Highness." The photographer inclined their head respectfully, and jerked their head for Sigurd to place himself. "Just seated here, all right? Oh, and sir, give her one of your roses, it would look great with her coloring, right? Perfect. And now - You can say three - two - one - Pegasus Cheese - ! Perfect!"

The lights flashed in his eyes, and even blinking was not enough to drive it away at first. Sigurd waved a hand before his face with a laugh.

"Two copies," he managed, shaking his head, doglike, as though that would help. "If you can manage it."

[azurelunae]

[ RENAIS ] - A choreographed dance from rural Renais. Two rows of partners stand opposite of each other, dancing as they move closer and away from each other like waves upon a shore.

“Lord Sigurd!” Eirika waves at him from across the dance floor, a rare exuberant smile stretched across her face. When the two meet, they have but scant moments to speak.

”Like this!” She lifts up her skirt so that it crashes forward like a wave upon a shore. Around them, those without skirts to flounce about thrust their hips forward in a similar motion.

Then the two lines dance away once more. She take the moment to pull free one of her roses and when they meet again at the crest of waves, she offers it to him. “Where is your lady love?” This time her smile is light and affectionate.

[bxldrsdraumar]

The effect was so extraordinary in the sheer and human energy that Sigurd could not help but laugh, mimicking what he'd seen once, twice, before nodding - "Yes, I think I've the hang of it. Shall we?"

A rose extended in hand, and his hand for her to take as he guided them to the floor, into the crowd of churning bodies drawing close, then far away, vibrating indeed like the ocean's waves frothy against a shore.

"Would you believe if I said that she is not one for dancing? It is not that she does not enjoy it, I suppose - or at least, she always has at my side, however..."

A flounce of skirts at his sides, frothy and synchronized nearly perfectly from an opposing pair -

"Things of this nature, more spectacle and athleticism, draw more outgoing than she tends towards. But enough of that, for the moment - my lady love is enjoying her quiet, and your knight off to his business. We shall have to make one another their replacements - I know, not nearly to the right calibre! - but only for the dance."

[bxldrsdraumar]

[ SLIP-UP ] - As it turns out, a lot of people at the monastery make for great body doubles in the dark. What do you do when you slap a friend on the back only for you to find out when they turn around that it’s not your friend at all?

“raven! i finally found you!” yeah, because every tall guy is definitely the same guy, right. wheezing from her earlier, head spinning left and right (as if she can see in the dark, right), she's giving a series of the world's tiniest but most urgent tugs to ‘raven’'s sleeve. “i-i have to hide behind your giant muscles! i think i saw him! he's gonna chase after me again! and he's gonna trample bernie into a thin meaty paste with his stampede of horses! do you offer payment plans for bodyguard services? i've only got flowers.”

It was not unusual for the press of bodies at such an event - any gala would be remiss if there was not the occasional jostle, let alone one where the lights had gone down so abruptly - and so he did not think much of it at first, until Sigurd felt the gentle tug against his sleeve, and the insistent need of protection.

At that point, it did not matter who she asked for, or who it was she needed protection from - only that Sigurd was there, now, and whatever it was would end.

“Calm down,” he said, voice low but firm, and he allowed her hands to continue pulling on his sleeve as he raised his other to hover just over her shoulder. “Who is going to chase you? There are no horses in the hall, but if you are afraid to leave the ballroom, I shall walk with you. I am a knight, it is not merely my duty to ensure your safety, but my pleasure. I am Sigurd - you may rely on me, as long as you need, I can assure you.”

[bxldrsdraumar]

[ CHAMPAGNE ] - And from one of the finest bottles Adrestia has to offer. No student is allowed more than a single glass, and it looks classier to swirl it before it’s empty.

"Lord Sigurd!" The title flies out of Pandreo's mouth as he's pouring himself a modest glass. The man is so much more imposing, so much more real than an Emblem ever could be - if such a thought is permissible.

Then again, this man is certainly unaware of his existence. And trying to explain what an Emblem is right now is just going to cramp the party. "Sorry, I think I've seen you in a history book." Pandreo smiles sheepishly and makes an offering of the glass in his hand, resigned to pour himself another. "Cheers?"

The title was such a natural one for him to hear that it did not spark him as noteworthy, even though he had only ever gone by his knightly title at Garreg Mach. And to come from a holy man, at that.

“I have heard such a thing before.” With a laugh, Sigurd smiled broadly, warmly, dipping a little at the hip in a bow of greeting. “Cheers indeed, father - brother? I’m afraid we haven’t met, I don’t know your rank within the Church, but you may consider me friend in all that you need. Here, a rose for you.”

In truth, he took to the teachings of Seiros with as much zeal as he did the religion of his own home, finding them similar enough that if he unfocused his eyes to the particulars, they might as well have espoused the same ideals - enough for a Holy Knight to find the cause a worthy one to serve, and those under her banner as equally under his protection.

“I don’t believe that I’ve seen many of the clergy partaking tonight - ah, not, of course, that I would dictate what you should do, of course. It is good,” he assured, with a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “that the Chuch sees fit to participate in the festivities as well.”

[bxldrsdraumar]

[ REQUEST ] She'd only ever gotten her hands on his ring once, but it was hard to forget the exhilarating feeling of mowing down a bunch of enemies at once. Really, it was their fault for standing in a straight line while running away. If they had any brains, they would have spread out and scattered like rats instead of forming a polite little line.

Either way, seeing Sigurd and a bunch of people unwittingly standing in a perfect line, it just feels nostalgic, y'know? Here is where they'd Engage and knock down all of those idiots at once. It would be so easy. It would be so fun.

But this is a ball. This Sigurd has no horse and no lance, making him practically useless. He's just a regular man.

"...This sucks."

The path from where he was to where he wanted to be should have been a relatively simple one, truth told. He merely wanted to grab a drink from the refreshments table, perhaps see if they had a charcuterie for a slice of salami and a few grapes - the night of dance and laughter might not look like it was taking its toll, but even one such as he would need replenish his stores of energy in order to keep the spirits high, as they needed.

“Excuse me,” he said to the first, and that was as much as he need give before he was off, striding tall and confident in a beeline to his destination.

Where on occasion he would clap another’s hand or shoulder in greeting, in larger part he simply moved without breaking pace, sure and certain that those who needed not be there would no longer when it was important.

It was his way, of course - head high and gaze forward, and to move in a straight line. For all his faults, this was something he had learned from his own academy days.

Probably.

“Ah, and they’ve set out a new tray of champagne - fine enough,” he confided to the young blonde when he arrived; “But perhaps water, just for now. Would not want to lose my edge,” he added with a wink.

[heirjinto]

@bxldrsdraumar sent: [ SWEET BUN TRIO ] - Three delicious, bite-sized buns from Faerghus. The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top. / Eating contest? :peekbutt:

"respect your elders, for they have walked the path before you." — anonymous

"...firfyfwee!" someone's dad is about to taste defeat, because let's face it: there's no out-eating a growing boy with a bottomless pit for a stomach. (unless?) "keebing ughp?"

look, this guy's nice and all — super friendly, apparently just as competitive — and shiro can appreciate that! but it'd be a disservice to them both if he slowed down for the sake of politesse. an older knight this man may be, but a competitor's still a competitor no matter their age (or status), and it'd be a damn shame if he didn't get to use the tricks learned over the years.

like knowing to avoid the buns glazed with honey (sticky! slows you down! makes you thirsty faster!) and having no qualms about getting messy so that he can squash several buns together. voila~! a frankenbun to shove into his mouth. 3-in-1, baby!

munchmunchmunch. focused as he is on the plate before him, shiro still manages to shoot a playfully challenging look the other's way. "yoo cab gib up if yoo wab." swallowswallowswallow. "i can do this allllll night!"

[bxldrsdraumar]

"fuck them kids" — michael jordan

'At the very least, one more than you,' was what was supposed to come out. The sound that actually emerged was less a communication of a thought and more an alarming gurgle, flaky pastry fluttering from his lips in a matter almost delicate if it weren't for the grunting.

He was glad, briefly, that his sister were not here to see this. What a fuss she would make, that would frankly impede his ability to reach the next bun.

The lad had been so eager to take him up on his challenge - Crusaders bless his soul, he looked scant old enough to be shaving, and fidgeting enough to tap a groove into the grain of the buffet table - that he had not quite seen the warning signs of a true champion before him.

It almost felt like cheating to chew, so he allowed the boy to do so, slipping another bun into the space at the back of his cheek. Probably his wisdom teeth had been there once upon a time, he was no master anatomist.

[lovelyflight]

[ GRANNVALE ] - An old waltz from before the rise of Emperor Arvis. It was popular during its time in the 750s but has now become a relic of the past, one that may not be as appreciated by the newer generation.

This waltz felt rather… different? It wasn’t like any she knew of, herself, but it was quite fun. It felt like the ones she’d heard of while combing through ancient history books her tutors had her read. Far too often she found them boring but this was shaping up to be much different.

“Are you familiar with this dance…? I must say, it’s not as familiar to me as some others. Maybe it is because I only recently arrived here.”

A month but still. Gentle laughter escaped her. Even if it felt older than she was by miles, it was still enjoyable. Enough for her wings to take part in this dance too. A sign of her excitement, perhaps? As the music came to a close, as did this dance. She held a tulip out for him to take.

“Thank you for partaking in this dance with me! A tulip for your bouquet would do nicely, wouldn’t you agree?”

And another rose for hers would suit it quite well. After all, it was her namesake, was it not?

[bxldrsdraumar]

He could say that he was familiar, that the steps of this waltz, perhaps more than any other, had been drilled into him with the same sincerity as any sword form or manouevre of dressage, that he could do them backwards or forwards or blindfolded, if she would like.

Instead, Sigurd smiled, and leant in closer as though telling a secret. "You're doing great. Don't worry about a thing - allow me the lead, and I will ensure that you float across the dancefloor as though you are - well!"

And a laugh, eyes flicking to the voluminous wings tucked neatly behind her.

At the tulip, Sigurd bowed, a hand on his chest as though accepting the sincerest of gifts, and extended a rose to her in turn. On rising, his smile melted into a grin, cocksure and boyish.

"Perhaps I should collect more of the tulips. My wife's flower," he explained, tucking the new tulip in beside the others, a corona around Deirdre's in the center. "Ah, and you were right. It looks incredible. Thank you."

[liaytolisia]

[ REVIEW AND REVISE ] - The White Heron cup is mere hours away, but that still leaves plenty of time to reconsider your approach. Ask a friend for a second opinion, or drag a passerby into an impromptu rehearsal.

It is perhaps the most Lianna thing she could do, fretting and worrying, but this time it wasn't over her brother or her friends, it was over her own preparedness. Why, she was practically strangling the poor bouquet of roses in her hands as she worried. With wide blue eyes, she stared at Sigurd.

"Are you certain it's alright?" she asked. "We shouldn't practice more? There's still time before the competition....!"

Gods, she was nervous. Perhaps it was the nerves talking, but she really couldn't chase them away. The young Queen was struggling to calm herself really. Having practiced with Sigurd in the first place, she hoped that he might be able to calm her...

[bxldrsdraumar]

"I am as certain in this as I am in all things," Sigurd replied with a laugh, for once the absolute picture of calm stillness to contrast Lianna's nerves, seated with one leg leisurely crossed over the other and wrist propped against knees. "We have certainly practiced the motions often enough, I should think you might be able to do them in your sleep."

Whether she willed it or no, he did not add, canting his head to look at her, eyes creasing in amusement. It had not necessarily come through during their practice sessions, but this could be attributed to the both of them being such hard workers.

For all other accusations that might be leveled against him, that he lacked dedication or the will to achieve better was unheard of.

Another laugh as he rose from his seat, gently placing hands over hers to pry the bouquet away and set it beside his own, a few scattered roses from each intermingling together as he turned his back.

"But, if it will help, I would not say no to another dance with you. Simply to brush up, of course."

[heriteur]

[ GRISTONNE ] - An energetic and aggressive dance from the Gristonne Kingdom, it mixes fast, rapid turns and decisive footwork, evoking the image of an aggressive soldier in the midst of combat going toe-to-toe with their foe. Not for the faint of heart.

The elements of some of these dance styles should really be incorporated into Brodia's, he thinks; it would certainly make the galas feel a bit more eventful, and less tedious.

Sigurd, as expected, was an excellent partner to challenge and measure oneself against—his stamina is boundless and unparalleled, every shift and heel turn forcing Diamant to push against his own limits just to be able to keep up. Embarrassing himself was never an option, especially not in front of the man that so greatly informed Emblem Sigurd.

"Exhilarating," he makes a sharp turn, "isn't it? I didn't expect dancing to provide such a satisfying workout."

@bxldrsdraumar

[bxldrsdraumar]

There was nothing quite like a warmup before a vigorous workout. Dancing, he thought - he knew, rather, from his own time on the dancefloor, the portrait perfect son of Chalphy - was rather underestimated at its tax on the body, and Sigurd could not help but smile as he spun around Diamant, stomping once and clapping brightly for emphasis.

"Would you prefer that I slow down for you?" A gentle prod, for he knew the man would like nothing so little - a warrior's spirit, that could not help but bring the battle with him ere he went. "Or is your heart prepared for the crescendo as it comes?"

They were kindred, in that way, Sigurd thought - had always thought, he'd liked Diamant upon first laying eyes on him, and every interaction had merely cemented the ideal that they were near as twin souls as two could be without a shared history behind them.

He thought, perhaps, that Eldigan and Quan would feel the same, if they were here.

What a sight they four would make, storming the dancefloor.

The music died down, but his desire for movement did not, and Sigurd tilted at the waist in nearly a bow to extend a rose to the other man. "For your bouquet. Perhaps a drink, before the music begins again, what say you?"

[bxldrsdraumar]

"Mom said don't touch me - " "I'm not touching you, my lance is six foot long - "

[ladyleonster]

Ethlyn laughs and it almost comes out as a cackle. As much as she prides herself on being the mature and put together sibling, it's too easy to slip right back into her old childish ways when they have moments to fool around like this. It's fun to tease and be teased by him.

And, really, she knows he'll win. He always wins. It's inevitable. That knowledge has never stopped her from still trying her hardest but surely it won't hurt if she resorts to some slightly underhanded tactics.

He's right, though. The lance is heavy. To him it might be like lifting a pencil but she wasn't born blessed by a Crusader. It really doesn't help that she has to keep her grip on it much further back than she should in order to keep the required distance.

"Just because I'm small doesn't mean I'm not plenty strong!" She can't let him know she's already feeling it in her arms.

"Worry about your own weapon, Sig," she adds as she gives him another healthy poke with the tip of her spear. "Your casting stance looks awfully ridiculous." She laughs and sets the lance down for just long enough to demonstrate how silly he looks waving his hands about.

[bxldrsdraumar]

"Ah, well, forgive me my poor form. I shall strive to improve it – one of us should be in proper form for this exercise, after all. Just another of my responsibilities as eldest son," he sighed, exaggerated, and attempted to craft himself into the proper sight of a mage. 

It was harder than he expected, even just to do a poor mimicry of them. Watching the likes of Azelle or Tailtiu on the field of battle was one thing, when he was so often farther along in the vanguard and unable to see the particulars of how they moved – and there was nearly no purpose in scrutinizing an enemy, when their movements were always short lived in the face of him. 

There was one mage that he'd the opportunity to see quite up close, and while that one had certainly held himself with the proper gravitas and power of a true magician, it chagrined Sigurd to find his limbs stiffly emulating those motions and gestures. 

A shiver traveled up his spine, and a pit in his gut cooled with nausea. Sigurd's hand rose, the barest of tremors dictating the trajectory of the wind, and dissipating them nearly instantly. 

Another exaggerated sigh as he clenched his fist to the failure – Ethlyn had no need to know whence it had stemmed. 

"Too serious by far!" Sigurd forced the grin on his face to spread wider, and made another silly gesture, nearly the flap of a bird's wings with his arms to send another gust of wind at his sister. "That's more like it!"