The Bastion of Tradition;

"Alright, you can stop licking my boots. Your mother isn't here." Independent, private, selective, low-activity AU roleplay blog for Archduke Elwin Rosfield from Final Fantasy XVI Sideblog to noescapingthepast Written by Vonny | Tracked tag is fire-branded Not spoiler free!

[fire-branded]

fire·brand noun: firebrand; plural noun: firebrands 1. a person who is passionate about a particular cause, typically inciting change and taking radical action;

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Independent roleplay blog for Archduke Elwin Rosfield of Final Fantasy XVI, written by Vonny (she/they, 30+)

Private, selective, low-activity; sideblog to @noescapingthepast

Exploring themes such as: love and duty; honor and betrayal; falling from grace; death and rebirth; coping with trauma and survivor’s guilt; reconciliation with one’s past self; war for freedom and peace, and a lost soldier’s return home;

Blog roll: @noescapingthepast , @chosen-of-the-wolf

Affiliated with: @talesofaether , @warofthebeasts + blog roll

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[fire-branded-archived]

The operation to remove his Bearer mark had been painful enough, even with the herbs used in numbing the area. It had been an agonizingly slow, tedious process. The physickers, including Tarja, had needed to pause numerous times throughout in order to steady their hands, knowing well that one wrong movement would ensure an even more agonizingly slow death for their patient.

For Elwin, the risk of dying during the surgery meant nothing -- and the pain meant even less to him.

However, it was the pain that came after the brand had been removed that hurt far, far worse than the dangerous procedure itself. It was to be expected, he knew; healing took time, and the wound inflicted to remove the poisonous ink was raw, exposed. It itched, a maddening sensation, one that he could not scratch -- and if he tried, would lead to him clawing at the scrawled abrasion that now overtook the side of his face.

And yet "Miles" appreciated that part, even welcomed it. Every ragged breath, every throb of aggravated flesh, every groan and cry and curse that was dredged up from deep within him, they assured him that he was still alive. Every moment that passed under gnawing pain was another moment of knowing that his end, his final end, had not yet come. There was still a remaining purpose for the former Archduke, and he could not -- would not -- sink into his grave until it was fulfilled once and for all.

A second chance was rare; a third chance was unfathomable, and yet here he was. So while the older man lay there in the infirmary, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused, hurt-clouded vision, he did not smile, no. But he did not frown, either. This new scar, like the scar that circled around his neck, would serve as a testament to his death and subsequent rebirth, of his rise from the shadows under the guidance of that ever-raging flame of conviction.

[fire-branded-archived]

I know I've talked about some(or most) of this before now, but here we go again, word vomit time! As soon as I doublecheck some math here --

The timespan from when The Night of Flames took place 'til when the first Hideaway was established was like what, nine or so years? And the timespan between when that happened and when Clive and Jill first go to Hideaway is like four? I'll say Elwin was a Bearer for ten years, give or take a few months or whathaveyou. So that'd place it in the year 870? when he was liberated. Which means three years at Hideaway before Clive and Jill enter the picture -- so I'll say "Miles" became a Cursebreaker maybe a year or so before then.

Please, please correct me if I'm off with the years and the math, because I am an idiot when it comes to math and math-related stuff and things. And I'm also using the Ultimania's translated timeline as a reference, so for all I know it may be different in the game itself.

But math issues aside, I figure Miles, once recovered enough and having regained enough strength to do so, would put himself to use around Hideaway to be ... well, useful. He's able-bodied -- more than that, he's hardy as hell when he isn't malnourished and beaten down. He's a quick learner, is good with his hands and even better with a sword. He's incredibly well-educated. He's persuasive, can be charming when needed and deathly serious when the situation calls for it. He's personable. He's even good with chocobos!

All of that is to say... There are so many ways in which he can be helpful, and he'd put every single one into practice if allowed to around and for the Hideaway. No task is too big or too small for him to take on. Not just in gratitude to the ones who liberated him and have provided him a place to live, but also to take care of his fellow Branded now that he's actually able to.

While he was Archduke, he was limited on what he could do by the stances of the other High House council members and the royal court. While he was a Bearer, he was forced into obedience by the threat of others being harmed because of him. Now he's free and unrestrained, and he's about to make it everyone's problem (affectionate) by being a helpful pest.

Becoming a Cursebreaker is like, the ultimate way of helping others, so of course he'd throw himself head-first into the opportunity once ready to do so.

[fire-branded-archived]

"To hell with this, there must be another way!"

The shouting paused just briefly. Then the sound of a slap, its force fueled by unrestrained fury, seemed to echo within the gallery. Some of the servants passing below hurried away from the area, while others stopped to listen, and in both cases they were deathly silent, as though so much as breathing would draw the attention away from the unfolding scene and turn it upon themselves.

The strike was strong enough to leave Elwin stunned for a moment, but the surprise quickly subsided into naught more than a dull sting across the side of his face. His head snapped forward again, that darkened gaze fixing upon his father's dark blue glare. Everything in him was tense, from his posture to his countenance; he was ready to lunge, and perhaps might have made the mistake of doing so if he didn't know the Archduke so well. His father could dispatch him in one solid blow if he wanted to -- and would not hesitate in flattening him if provoked.

Still, the crown prince's jaw clenched, and so did his fists. The latter tightened until his palms hurt from the dig of his nails. But no matter how much he trembled with anger, he would not move, could not move. Not to trade blows, nor to back down.

"You forget yourself, boy," the Archduke roared. The tirade he had been preparing to launch into was interrupted by yet another violent cough, which was hastily stifled behind his handkerchief. The pause and furrow of his father's brow gave the prince a glimmer of hope, and he seized the opportunity to press the matter further, to try and speak reason into him.

"As your Shield, it is my duty to protect you --"

"Enough." This time, the snap -- although no less angry -- lacked the same ferocity as the previous one had. The other's voice was somewhat strained, in fact, with a distinct hint of weariness; it was as if the Dominant was struggling within his own body to stave off another wave of coughs and hacks. Even his gaze averted for but an instant, and his son could swear that there was concern laced around the very edges of his irises. "By our very blood, we are inextricably bound to Rosaria. We are the shield of our people, and it is my duty to give myself to them. You damn well know this."

"But father --"

Or perhaps Elwin had been seeing things, influenced by his yearning to find any crack or foothold in his father's resolve.

"Remember your oath, Elwin. Let it burn within your heart like the flames of the Phoenix burn through your veins." In his free hand, the older man withdrew his sword from its sheath, then pointed the tip of its blade towards his older son. No, the son realized in that moment, there was no waver in the Archduke's devotion to his duty. Just like his blade itself, his expression was forged of steel and tempered in the fires of Mt. Drustanis. "Or if you will not, you will be dismissed from your position as First Shield. Do you understand?"

The young man flinched. Now it was his turn to avert his gaze, for a myriad of reasons -- not least of all being shame. "... Yes, Your Grace."

The Archduke sheathed his sword again and turned to leave. But even as he disappeared through the doorway at the far end of the corridor, leaving Elwin standing there in silence, the mental image of the blood splattered upon that handkerchief remained vivid in his son's mind.

[fire-branded-archived]

What Is Your Morality Alignment?

Your Result: Neutral Good (92%)

You do your best to help as many people as possible. Sometimes you cooperate with authority, and sometimes you act independently; some may call you an idealist, though you know in your heart and your head that what you're doing is right. This particular zeal develops you into the archetypal "champion", as you fight evil and corruption everywhere you go.

Tagged By: @flamesofrebirths -- thank you!!

Tagging: Everyone who sees this! Gogogogogo!

[fire-branded-archived]

"You've that look in your eyes again, Your Grace."

Elwin's brows rose, body stiffening for but a moment in surprise at having been so easily read by his dear friend. (But then again, he would expect no less from Rodney Murdoch; the man may as well have been one half to his whole, so close had they always been.) Shifting back a step from his previous position of leaning forward on the balcony balustrade, that green-blue gaze swept over to the Lord Commander. To anyone else, his expression would have been unreadable; it was carefully shrouded in a veil of neutrality, neither too stern nor too serious, yet never relaxed enough to seem lackadaisical.

That is, unless one knew what to look for, and where to find it. Just like Rodney always did.

The blonde stepped closer, taking the spot at Elwin's side, where he too rested his forearms on the balustrade. "Out with it, then. Come on."

The Archduke's stance was broken by a deep furrowing of his brows. Fixing his gaze back downward where it had been originally, it was to watch the little boy -- six, seven summers at best -- of interest carrying his baby brother around the royal gardens. Each time they paused at one of the blooming bushes, Clive, though his exact words were inaudible to his father from this height, would presumably explain a bit about the particular flowers. And each time, one of Joshua's pudgy little hands would reach out, as if wanting to touch the petals for himself, even if he didn't understand a word of what his older brother was telling him.

To see them together filled their father with such joy, and such grief, both for many reasons he dared not disclose to anyone except perhaps Rodney and Hanna, and of course Byron.

Lips curled into a slight, gentle smile. Then he shook his head. It wasn't often enough that he was given a chance to speak candidly with anyone -- even those closest to him. The walls did, after all, have ears. Such was the price of being a central figure in political games; there was always the risk that something he said might be "accidentally overheard", and "just so happen" to wind up in the hands of someone more than happy to use it against him in whatever way they could twist together. (He and Anabella had already learned that the hardest way, hadn't they?)

"He deserves better than this."

Finally, the dark-haired man came out and said it, this heavy, deep thought that had been tormenting him for some time now. Every time he looked at Clive, it was all he could think: the boy deserves better than this life. A firstborn failing to awaken as the next Dominant of Phoenix was not abnormal, although it was by no means "ideal". And yet, through no fault of his own, Clive's very birth was being mocked and insulted by the very nobles who had, before Joshua's birth, celebrated his life. Even the Duchess herself had decided to turn her back on their son, taking up the same slings and arrows wielded by their peers -- that Clive was a "failure", that he was "unfit", "unworthy" of the throne that had been promised to him and everything pertaining to it. That he was a "disgrace" to the Rosfield name.

Like worms, the other nobles had burrowed and ate their way into the royal couple's lives. They had hollowed out the inside of Anabella's heart and left it full of holes that bled out shame, and if she had her way, she would see their beloved boy -- her boy -- secreted away to the arms of The Undying, like so many other illegitimate children that had been abandoned and hid away by their family line.

Even though she knew, better than her husband did, that Clive was not an illegitimate child of Elwin's. How could he possibly be, when she had carried him within her for so many months? It was an utterly absurd rumor.

And yet it had done its intended job, and then some.

Rodney shifted, grunting slightly as he maneuvered his chin onto the back of one gloved hand. Just as the Archduke was beginning to think that his friend was at a loss for words on the matter, the other cleared his throat and spoke again, though his voice was kept quiet for the same reason Elwin's was. "He does, aye. So you know what you must do."

The furrowing of his brows deepened further, and he shot a quizzical glance at the Lord Commander -- only to find Rodney biting back a small smile of his own. When the Lord Commander straightened up, one arm moved so that he could give Elwin a few hearty pats to his upper back. "This is not the Elwin Rosfield that I have always known -- content to brood in silence while injustices are inflicted upon the innocent. The Elwin Rosfield that I have always known would fight on behalf of those who could not fight for themselves. Just because you cannot throw a punch or two in defense of the boy doesn't mean that you are powerless to help him against them."

Elwin stood silent for several minutes. Though his gaze returned to the children below, his mind was fixated entirely upon this newest advice. Sage advice, at that. Gradually, the tension that had crept across his countenance eased up again. Rather than returning to that carefully even expression, however, it took on a more thoughtful tone, which seeped into his voice as well when he did reply: "If they will bar him from the throne and from political matters, then I will just have to find him a new place to showcase his strength and brilliance." And his compassion and devotion, most of all. "He is no Dominant, but he is no less for it, and I will make every opportunity for him to show them that."

Then Elwin turned fully towards his friend, briefly flashing him one of his nigh-on grins. "And you are going to help me do so."

The smile was, of course, reciprocated; while the Archduke's held a hint of reservedness to it, his second-in-command's held no restraint in being a grin. "Just know that I will not go easy on him, just because he's yours."

There it was; that spark of life, bright as the sun, reflecting there in Elwin's eyes. "Of course, my friend. So long as you know that I do eagerly await the day when he is able to best you -- and me."

[fire-branded-archived]

Archduke of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria and father of Clive and Joshua. Loved by his people for his steadfast leadership both at home and on the battlefield—which he put to good effect in quelling the rebellious Northern Territories. -- Elwin Rosfield's bio

Elwin is actually a good politician, with his most notable success being the final resolution of the long-standing conflicts between Rosaria and the Northern Territories. He's well-rounded in terms of swordsmanship and statesmanship, and lacks skill in neither category; this is because of his intense devotion to studying both throughout his youth and up 'til his time taking the throne. (Not that his learning stopped there, of course, but you get the point.)

The former Archduke and Archduchess had wanted him to focus most of his attention on the latter, but conceded to his passionate appeal of wanting to fight alongside the ducal army -- and his father. Their stipulation for this was, however, that he was not to shirk any of his lessons and duties to prepare for the eventuality of him taking the throne. He would be needed just as much in the audience chambers and among the courts as he would be out on military campaigns.

This agreement was one that he took with the utmost seriousness, and always strove to balance his attention between both paths. For all of his seemingly foolhardy antics as a teenager, most often than not he would be found either training with his fellow Shields, or with his nose buried in a book -- even on vacations to Eastpool during the summers. And even at home, it really wasn't uncommon for him to steal away for private moments beyond Rosalith's walls, in more secluded areas of Rosalith Castle, or even in the chocobo stables with Eleftherios, to read in peace. When he would accompany his father to different parts of Storm for political meetings and assemblies, he would hang on every word that was exchanged during debates just as much as he would journey around to learn the lay of the land and get to know the various citizens and their stories -- just as his mother had insisted that he always make sure to do both within and outside of the duchy's borders.

These pursuits were not viewed as a chore for him. In fact, he actually loves reading and learning, and practicing combat has an added bonus of allowing him the chance to relieve some of his stress and frustrations. With regards to studying, his mindset is always that he would rather amass too much knowledge that he will never use, than to need to know something yet be ignorant on the topic.

[fire-branded-archived]

The cell was exactly as one might expect from an imperial prison: dark, empty, grim. There were no windows, was no light aside from that which was able to sneak in from the torches lining the stone corridor beyond the door. Now and then, the voices of guards filtered in from somewhere unseen; footsteps echoed with the movements of their routine patrolling.

Each time the Imperial soldiers came to peer through the barred window of the cell door, they were met with incineratingly fierce glares and guttural growls from Elwin. He had learned early on that the pain of speaking far outweighed his desire to let loose every curse, every insult, every threat that burned on his tongue. The crystal fetters pinning his wrists may have prevented his use of his blessing, but that instead amplified his anger, driving him to slam those very shackles against the heavy, locked door with each shove of his body against it. In some aspects, the former Archduke seemed more like a wounded and cornered animal than the regal and composed man he had once been. Even his haggard appearance, including unruly hair and an overgrowing beard, lended to the image of disgrace.

Their attempts at feeding him had been met with these ceaseless displays of aggression, and on more than one occasion, he had even spit in the tending guard's face. Needless to say, they had reached a point of deciding to let him starve indefinitely -- and he was fine with that.

Exhaustion had slowed his pacing until, finally divested of his last remaining strength, Elwin had resorted to sitting against the far wall. The flimsy, ragged tunic shoved onto him did nothing to shield him from the coldness against his back, while his head drooped forward from the lingering weakness in his scarred and bruised neck. But this behavior was, deceptively, not of resignation nor defeat.

It was patience.

There was no way out for him, and so he, with silent determination, unbending resolve, and tempered fury blazing through his very veins, would wait. He would wait and observe, absorbing every last crumb of information that trickled his way from unconcerned soldiers and their careless conversations. Yes -- he would bide his time and weather this storm, no matter how long it took.

[fire-branded-archived]

Unfortunately, I should also add that there is royal protocol and etiquette to be followed, which as much as I'd love to be like WELL FUCK THAT MY GUY, Elwin kind of can't do that, even when it comes to his family. That's not how it works, not unless you want your right to rule to be called into question and blah blah blah the only reason House Rosfield has control over the throne is because they are incredibly careful with what can be summed up with as selective breeding in order to keep the Phoenix within their bloodline and the Dominant of Phoenix is supposed to take the throne according to the in-game lore and that makes it a surprisingly precarious situation considering the other High Houses are there and want him dead so they can gain control of the duchy and stop his plans to minimize their power over the people and --

As much as I'd love to sit here and also be like damn Elwin should have just said "fuck this" to Anabella and held Clive above his head like Simba, it genuinely is not that simple. Aristocracy is a giant chess game of politics, and you actually have to play nicely with everyone across the board and maintain the peace at least to some extent, otherwise you'll end up losing your head.

Which happened to Elwin regardless, but AT LEAST IT WASN'T IN THE WAY OR BY THE PEOPLE HE EXPECTED IT TO BE. The guy was already taking massive risks pushing his plans for the future of Rosaria, despite how unpopular they were with many of his court -- he knew he needed to tread lightly, because he knew he'd made enemies who would try to axe him out of the picture to maintain their control. THE POLITICS, DUKE, THE POLITICS. (please get that reference, I'm begging someone, anyone.)

So him waiting until they're in private to talk to Clive as father and son isn't a slight against Clive, that's just How It Goes, particularly with the situation surrounding Clive's "legitimacy" in the Rosfield family and how the court had already been slandering Anabella after Joshua awakened as the next Dominant instead of Clive(according to Anabella's ranting), sometimes you just have to do what you have to do when your political position is already rocking back and forth on a somewhat loosened foundation, even if by circumstances beyond your control.

Not to mention there's the can of worms of putting his family over his duty and over the good of their nation, ala if he had chosen to listen to himself and not take Joshua to Phoenix Gate and I don't actually remember where I was going with all of this. Welp.

[fire-branded-archived]

Elwin has no right to be as handsome as he is. Look at that, look at that subtle little half-smile. And look at that very light little chuckle in the last gif, because he knows exactly what he's doing. HE BELIEVES IN YOU, CLIVE -- HE KNOWS YOU'RE GREAT, AND HE KNOWS THAT ANABELLA WILL SEE HOW GREAT YOU ARE, TOO. THEN SHE'LL CHANGE HER TUNE WITH AND TOWARDS YOU.

Yeah, yeah, I know, he wasn't a perfect dad. He wasn't a perfect anything. And honestly, I think that makes him all the better as a character -- and as a person. I don't think the people of Rosaria think he's perfect, per se; they see his efforts, they see his passion, they see his compassion and humility, and they can look past his flaws and missteps and see the good he does and tries to do.

I don't think his sons are blinded by their love for him, either. Just look at Joshua for example telling Clive that back when he was little, yeah, he was hurt by how Elwin treated him -- but now that he's older, he realizes that that treatment, though not ideal, came from a good place, a good heart. Elwin believed in him, just like he believed in Clive, and wanted Joshua to believe in himself too, and Joshua acknowledged that to Clive. Was Elwin perfect at showing his love? No. Does that mean he didn't feel it, and didn't show it in his own ways? Also no.

It's not about him being perfect. It's about him being a good person. And it's not about him carrying himself as, or acting like he is, a saint or virtuous man. He's simply being. He's being himself, authentically, and people see that, and they admire and love him for who and how he is, and by extension how he chooses to rule. He doesn't lead by force or command -- he leads by doing, by being, by being not a perfect person, but a good human being, and people follow him for it.

Or maybe I'm just too idealistic in my opinion of him. That could be it, too.

Either way, me, resetting the counter for Days Since Last Sobbed Over Elwin Rosfield back to 0: .

[noescapingthepast]

Discord drop? Discord drop.

[fire-branded-archived]

His hands slammed down upon the elongated table. The force was enough to send some of the pieces, which had prior been placed strategically across the large map of The Twins, toppling over. The chain reaction caused a small flinch from Rodney Murdoch, though the Lord Commander remained silent; there was naught he could say in this moment, and it was not his place to speak on behalf of the Archduke while the Archduke was present, or without his consent at the very least.

Elwin's head remained lowered for several long minutes. Gloved fingers, trembling slightly with anger, first dug in against the massive and incredibly detailed parchment; then those same digits curled into tight fists. Despite this, none of his ire was directed towards any of the council members and advisors in attendance of the meeting -- at least, not physically.

The quiet that otherwise hung over the war room was heavy with tension, almost suffocatingly so. It was as if the moment had stilled, time frozen beneath a shroud of darkly heated emotions on all sides, with Archduke Elwin Rosfield's being the thickest of all.

His teeth gritted against the wave of mixed anger, hopelessness, and nausea. Once he had composed himself well enough to regard his fellows, it was not the other High House representatives that received his desperate gaze, nor his advisors. It was the field commanders present, two of whom had traveled all the way from Dhalmekia's southern front, and whose expressions seemed just as -- if not more -- grave than their liege's.

"We must retreat," the Archduke finally spoke, his voice somewhat strained.

One of the other council members threw up his arm, then gestured aggressively towards the map. "And if we do? The king's army will pursue our soldiers 'til they are upon our doorstep. What, pray tell, will happen then?"

"They will die if they remain any longer!" Elwin continued to push, his voice raising in defiance of the, admittedly, fair argument. "We cannot leave them for dead --"

"--Your Grace," another interjected. "They are already as good as dead. Dhalmekia has seen to that."

"Against Field Marshal Havel's demands!" Came another exclamation, this one from the Lord Commander himself.

"And your point is?" The first councilman shot back with even greater aggression. "Havel does not have the final say. Their Dominant was recalled from the field, and so too were their troops. It is over. If Waloed chooses to give chase after our men, we have no Dominant to protect our borders against their Dominants."

Once more Elwin's head dropped. When his teeth gritted this time, it was with even greater ferocity, with far greater force. The tension setting his jaw was evident even with his attempts to conceal his eyes, and betrayed his sentiments just as blatantly. There was also a sharp sting of twofold guilt; guilt that they did not, indeed, have a Dominant capable of taking the field on their behalf, and guilt that the thought should cross any of their minds to judge Joshua's inability to protect them, given that the boy was only five summers old.

How could a child be expected to go to war? How could a child be expected to wield such devastating power as that of an Eikon's?

Despite composing himself yet again, this time the Archduke did not look up. His head did bob, however, in acknowledgment of their words, of their stance. "... I understand the risks," he kept his voice calm and even this time around. "But I cannot abandon them. I will not. Forgive me, but if they are willing to fight for us, then I too will fight for them. Send word to Waloed's commanders that I request an audience with King Tharmr, on behalf of The Grand Duchy of Rosaria, to negotiate the safe withdraw of our soldiers."

[fire-branded-archived]

I was looking for a Lilligant icon to use in a post about inactivity, but I came across this in the process. He looks so concerned and sad...

Poor Anabella and Elwin -- seriously. Imagine knowing that your duty in life is to have a kid that you'll basically be condemning from the moment they're born(or awaken as the next Dominant) to a slow and painful death for their nation. And yeah, you can easily make the argument of “well Elwin had a choice -- he could have just not gone through with taking Joshua” -- and I don't fully dispute that point. It is true, he could have made that call. But I'll also argue that the situation is also not that simple. Rosaria's history is filled with conflict -- especially with the North. Elwin's father, the previous Dominant of Phoenix, died young, leaving Rosaria in a bit of a bind; not only did they lose their acting Archduke, they also lost their primary defense(and offense) in war. Given the Phoenix's crucial role in battle, particularly against other Dominants, and the fact that they have no idea when or who the next Dominant of Shiva will show up as... And more than that, given that the Dominant of Phoenix is the only one who can(as far as they know) enter the Apodytery to obtain guidance from their ancestors regarding war and conflict, not having the Phoenix with them puts them at an enormous disadvantage, no matter how strong their army is when holding the line on their own. (As they show time and again that they are capable of doing during Elwin's reign, before Phoenix Gate.) So no, Elwin didn't exactly have a choice; he and Anabella are the Archduke and Duchess of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria, members of House Rosfield -- a family who, by Elwin's own words to Joshua, retains the Phoenix in their bloodline and dedicates that magic to protect and serve their people. No matter how much they may love their child, they are, again, Archduke and Duchess; they don't get the option to be selfish, not when they are the rulers of an entire nation which depends on them and their bloodline for protection and guidance.

This ramble brought to you by The Fact That I Read Way Too Much Into Things.

[fire-branded-archived]

The journey from their main camp up to the designated meeting site would be another two days -- cut by half if they chose to push their chocobos to their limits. While he knew that Eleftherios would be more than willing to oblige a request to hasten their speed, the young Archduke would not put his retinue of Shields and soldiers -- or their mounts -- through such undue stress.

Not when the atmosphere surrounding their mission was already so uncertain and tense.

For a mercy, the freeze of winter had already begun giving way to the first signs of spring. Even in this place, so far to the North of Storm, the wind that nipped at their half-covered faces and stung their exposed eyes wasn't quite as biting as it normally was. The last time he had stepped foot this far into King Warrick's lands to treat with the great "Silvermane" himself, it had been at the side of his father, and the weather had been harsh and unforgiving then.

Much like the former Archduke had done, Elwin rode onward with head held high and not a drop of trepidation exuded through his posture nor body language. No -- everything about him bespoke of a ruler undaunted. And so it should have been, and so it would be; yet on the inside, within his mind and resounding within his heart, was a well of anxiety and self-doubt.

When Silvermane's men had marched upon Rosarian soil, they had arrived knowing full well that they had Rosaria at a heavy disadvantage for not just one, but multiple reasons. But their invasion was not driven by love of bloodshed, of that Elwin was sure; it was driven by desperation, of a will and want to survive despite the heavy hand that sought to strangle the life from their land and their people. The death of their Mothercrystal and the devastation wrought by the Blight's progression had left them with few options, he surmised.

In that respect, the Archduke could not fault them -- especially King Warrick. As rulers, their duty was to their people; part of that duty meant doing whatever it took to ensure their survival, even if it meant going to war for the acquisition of hospitable land.

Despite that sympathy, however, Elwin's own duty to his people and the duchy meant that he too needed to do whatever was necessary. And in this case, it meant fighting back. It meant meeting Silvermane's troops on the battlefield with steel in hand and fire in their hearts.

Now that they had forced their age-old enemies back and had them on the back foot, the decision of what to do with them had become a subject of great division within the war room. The insisted route by many advisors was to crush them once and for all, that they would no longer prove a threat. This was their chance to end a long-standing conflict with the Northern Territories. Why falter, why hesitate? The solution was obvious: remove King Warrick's head and force his people to bend the knee to Rosaria. Though their land had naught of value to offer the duchy, the subjugation of their people and loss of guidance and military power meant they would never again be a threat.

This proposal was one that Elwin Rosfield adamantly objected. That same sympathy for the North's inhabitants, along with compassion for King Warrick's plight, urged him to demand an alternative method of ending this war with finality. While he and their men would fight against the North's troops with no less ferocity, and in doing so show them why they were fools for underestimating them, the reigning monarch was hellbent on a far more forgiving solution than death of the neighboring ruler.

The terms of surrender that Elwin had penned under the (eventual, but begrudging) acceptance of the other High House council members were not unconditional. In exchange for a full withdrawal of the opposing forces from Rosarian territory, and agreement of peace between the two nations, Archduke Elwin Rosfield would ensure that resources and aid were provided to the North.

Now that the time had come for both rulers to meet and sign the accord for the North's surrender, the Archduke found himself questioning: am I doing the right thing?

He knew what his father would have done. But he was not his father, and he refused to rule in the same manner that his father had. Of the many things his mother had taught him, it was the value of a human life; if there was a more peaceable solution than simply bringing an iron fist down upon their enemies, a means that minimized the number of casualties for all parties, then he would find it -- and take it.

[fire-branded]

Going to bring a bunch of writing and headcanons over from my old blog throughout the day, because damnit I miss it.

That said, sorry in advance for any Dashboard spam. Although I'll probably plop them into queue to avoid that.

[fire-branded]

@dragoonvowed asked: A new world awaits ready to emerge in the wake of Ultima’s demise. Freedom, long overdue, is now available. Nevertheless, liberation alone is not enough. Societies will need to be reconstructed from the ruins left behind, and lessons will need to be learned. People must live with dignity in this approaching era, transforming suffering into something kinder. At least, Terence believes so. Sanbreque, too, must be reborn from its own detritus ; must look upon its past mistakes to become something better. For a while, he says nothing, simply standing beneath the expanding light, steel-azure hues intensified by the first touch of sun peeking through. ❝ It's been a while since I watched such a beautiful sunrise. ❞

Is this it? He wonders, as he gazes up at the first rays of morning light. Is this the end of the reign of gods and pre-determined fate, and the beginning of a new chapter for men?

Despite having dreamed for so long of a world where all would be free and all would be treated with respect and dignity, in some ways it feels hollow for him now that it's here. After all, both of his sons are still gone, leaving only the weight of years stolen from them and words not spoken sooner. Their sacrifice was noble... But that does little to quell the pain of a loved one, no matter how true it may be. (They should be here to greet it too.)

Humanity has been saved. The world can begin its long and arduous process of healing, and in turn can society build itself anew -- no matter how difficult the journey will be. (And it will, indeed, be difficult.) The short-term pain will be worth it to pave a better, kinder future for generations yet to come; and for those of today, should they so choose to, they will be the ones to build that foundation one brick at a time, just as The Founder had done so long ago. They will be the ones to tell stories of this monumental triumph, just as they will be the ones to tell stories of mankind's darkest hours, and all will be necessary in weaving together the chronicled history of Valisthea.

With all voices being heard.

When the much younger man speaks, "Miles" shifts his focus from the horizon over to him. The statement gives him pause; for as much grief and pain and rage has roiled within throughout the years, taking a moment to appreciate the sunrise seems... almost necessary. As the night bids farewell, the sun brings with it a sense of hope that he has not felt in decades, at the very least.

And so he breathes deep, and exhales slowly, before nodding his agreement. "Indeed. A sunrise that will be remembered for ages." Then there's another pause. That sea-blue gaze turns to the sky again, before he makes his inquiry: "What will you do now?"

[fire-branded]

Here, have a very rough and lazy sketch of my Elwin as a teen.

I still think that "Don't tell mother or father" was his favorite phrase to Byron.