sanctuary.

ind. Flayn of fe16 canon divergent & spoiler heavy

[healeann]

the flow of time

[healeann]

bylenr‌:

Byleth has never been to the monastery before this, or any religious institution for that matter. They don’t know how to feel about the place—that voice in her head and the girl in her dreams has disappeared for the time being. (She wonders if she’ll return, and if she’ll be critiquing her actions all the same). A snort leaves her, when she wanders towards nothing in particular—gathering her bearings, she supposes, since she is to stay here. 

The position to teach came suddenly, unexpectedly; and like a knowledgeable adult, she would have declined, although Archbishop Rhea must have known—without any hesitation, she had asked Jeralt to be reinstated as Captain of the Knights of Seiros. So, without anybody else in her life and without any other goals, Byleth followed. 

Dark eyes sweep around their surroundings. Faculty, students. The occasional person lingering on a bench and several gardeners bustling to the nearby greenhouse. She looks at the water, leaning forward slightly to properly look at her reflection. Is that what she looks like now? A hand goes up to trace her cheek bones and lips. It’s been so long since she’s looked in a mirror. Her hair needed to be cut again soon.

A voice brings her out of her self-reflection. Byleth turns without a sound, gazing at the student in front of her. Not a Deer, she notes. They gesture to the pond, as if to say that they are unbothered by her presence; and they are. She appears energetic, so full of life, yet polite all the same. 

“I suppose,” comes the answer. Quiet and straightforward; she has no other opinions on the matter. Although… this girl—what was her name again?—looks at her with such expectancy that she simply feels the need to respond again, this time with more information. 

“…It’s busy,” she adds, glancing at the other people in the vicinity again. “…It will take some getting used to the crowds.” They have never known what to feel about crowds, and this only confuses her more.

Her gaze returns to the young girl. An eyebrow barely quirks, when she asks, “Are you a student here?”

It occurs to her belatedly that the monastery and its fortified walls at first glance may not hold a wide appeal. The life of a mercenary is one of travel. To Byleth this academy may well be a mere stop rather than destination. She searches their face for words unspoken, answers to questions unasked. Yet there is a disadvantage in lack of experience. Naive she is not but Flayn’s knowledge of the current age in which they live leaves much to be desired. Until recently she hadn’t even heard the name ‘Jeralt the blade breaker’ nor the fascination that the archbishop regarded his child with upon their arrival. In all her years on this hallowed earth there are truths still that she must learn.

The new professor poses an odd figure even among the colorful cast that make their home at the academy. Although there is no substitute for the raw, tactile experience one gains only from the battlefield. Mercenary work is not an uncommon line, but the days of war are far behind them with the soil long having soaked up blood spilled in that tragedy. History has been overwritten as it oft is and those that walk within the Officer’s Academy are too young to remember the world as it was. In a manner of speaking, they’re fortune to not know. Flayn too wishes to unerringly look only towards the future that awaits which starts with the new professor.

Byleth’s expression is like stone, schooled into an unmovable and unreadable calm. Perhaps it is a tool of the trade for mercenaries just as the sword. Emotive or not, they receive her company all the same and she is relieved by this fact enough to smile enthusiasm.  

“I understand it well.” A concession from the heart that reveals more than intended. It had taken Flayn herself ample time to adjust to life at the monastery like a fish out of water forced into new territories. Her voice is gentle, the ebb and flow of tide. “Let me assure you that those who gather here are a lovely sort. It is only a matter of time.” 

She cannot say for certain whether silence indicates concealed reservations or not. Passing glances cast across the length of the courtyard are hardly enough to acquaint oneself with a stranger, but Flayn feels like she could know Byleth if given the chance. She tilts her head in fondness. “A student I am not, however, I do live here as one of Garreg Mach’s permanent residents. You are to be a professor, yes? Will it be your first time educating youths? I imagine a mercenary such as yourself has all manner of wisdom under her belt.”

[healeann]

valkeirie‌:

The warmth of her smile dips further into fond nostalgia at the mention of Cichol and the pleasant afternoons they spent with each other in their youth. He is her most favored companion — a sentiment Seiros needn’t give voice to for anyone to see the truth she displayed so plainly in her actions — and perhaps that is the reason she adores Cethleann all the more.

“ He did indeed. Your father is quite the romantic; always so careful about choosing the perfect flower for her. ” Flora blooms throughout the canyon, thanks in no small part to the bounty of the Goddess, varying in bright, intense shades and muted pastels that left the mountains awash in their beauty. When Cichol first began plucking flowers she had teased him for it, eager to draw color to his complexion and see his usual composure falter, but truly she found the gesture incredibly sweet. Eventually she stopped with her playful quips and simply smiled knowingly. It was a great shame that their walks together had become infrequent as of late, but now it allowed Seiros to share the same pleasure with his daughter.

     It gave her an opportunity to share more of his embarrassing side as well.

“ It is most likely no surprise to learn that I favor lilies above all else. ” Certainly not, given she adorns white lilies in her hair often. Seiros cannot help but see divinity in the elegant curve of their petals and their delicate white color, untouched by impurities. “ However, I also adore peonies and myosotis. ”

She laces her fingers together as they walk the path out of the village, the sun warming her skin and dancing aquamarine off her hair. Once they are on the outskirts of the settlement, the seriousness usually set in her brows and shoulders relax, making way for something more genuine to take its place. “ It is quite warm today, isn’t it? I think that a trip to the lake is in order and, if you’d like, I may be persuaded to tell you more stories of your father when he was younger. ”

The tales of her father from a different time enchant Cethleann like nothing else— to know the man Cichol had been before love made him soft. She wonders, idly, what Seiros had thought of him when he returned to their sheltered canyon with a human wife from the outside. However she also knows as well as any that their kind hold no will towards humans and her mother’s place among them is more than enough of an indication that they are well-received. The decision to bring her home had been one motivated by the desire to share his world with her which no one could fault him for. And Cethleann is living proof of such a coexistence.

Her mirth contains an element of mischief. To be in the confidence of Seiros who must remain impartial on most matters feels like an accolade she’s done nothing to earn. Innocuous as the knowledge may seem, there is still pride in being privy to it. Seiros shares that the humble lily is her favorite, but she also has a fondness for peonies and myosotis of spring and between them this information shall stay, secrets tucked away with the utmost care. 

The daughter of the Goddess is more captivating than any flower Cethleann thinks privately. She hangs on words spoken to her. Attention is rapt while steps carry them beyond the fair village to familiar waters. “It is rather summery and I do believe I know just the one to which you are referring.” Pride evident in her tone, the destination in mind is a spot she knows best at her mother’s side and from the back of father. “I simply must take you up on that most generous offer, Milady. His retellings are never quite so enthralling as yours.”

Once arrived, she forgets herself to dash towards the open clearing under the similarly vast, blue sky overhead. There is a small dock situated at the edge of the lake that she is all too eager to dip her feet into. Pointed ears listen to the water hum and fish within dance to a melody that is lost on humankind. “Did you know,” she smiles with a touch of fondness. “my mother makes use of a rod to catch the fish.” Laughter spills from her lips as she describes the tool in great detail. It’s an odd thing sight when she and father are capable of seizing the slippery critters with fangs. Patience is a virtue according to mother who sits still as stone until a fish bites the line. Cethlean’s playful expression turns wistful, eyes closing. 

“She cannot hear the song of the lake.”

[healeann]

the flow of time

Some call it magic when a soul is inextricably drawn to another without the faintest explanation, but Flayn has always known the universe works in mysterious ways and this seemingly chance meeting must be something more akin to fate. Seteth, of course, would be quick to deny it so she does not inform him of her insatiable curiosity towards the new professor nor will she disclose her personal investigation into Byleth independent of his own. They are motivated by decidedly different reasons and she will not humor his suspicions for a single moment when they will only fuel his unbearable protective streak.

In all her years, the world still seems such a small place. There are centuries lost to slumber that she will never recover. Precious memories have long been imprisoned in an impregnable fog that may never lift try as she may. Just as her people, the Nabateans, have been lost to time, so too is the face of the mother she once adored more than even the sun’s brilliant light. Time will never bend to her whims, to Father’s whims, and it is a fact that even they are still learning to accept. “Flayn” thinks, privately, that is because he had more to lose then. She knows loss only through the blink of an eye, not the excruciatingly long, lonely years he had been forced to live though. But the pain of never having in the first place is far less charted and she does not wish to resign herself to it even when his concern has always come from a place of unconditional love.

And Flayn is certain if nothing else that their meeting is more than coincidence when she catches Byleth lingering by her favorite spot that the monastery has to offer: its modest docks. Uniform skirt fabric is smoothed beneath nervous fingers because she cannot simply approach the professor without presenting herself in a state any less than her best. Excited are the dainty steps that carry her over, closing the distance between them only after several strides. The calm waters are mirrored by the blankness of expression worn by Byleth whose wordless gaze perplexes her now that she recalls how little it has changed since arriving at the monastery.

“Professor?” she calls to the mercenary turned professor. “May I join you? Is Garreg Mach to your liking? I do hope you are enjoying your time here thus far. Have you settled into your room yet?” The questions tumble from her mouth one after another. There is no shortage of that which she wants to know and suddenly all at once she feels a longing for home.

@bylenr ♡

[healeann]

Quiet frustration lingers, remnants of an earlier exchange with her brother that had not ended so pleasantly. Her hands tense remembering the choice words she had assaulted him with and prays to be able to put it out of mind if only for the time being. Guilt wars with worries that run deeper— ones that are far more difficult to articulate. Centuries have taught her she has little say in the inevitable passage of time. So she devotes energy to smaller, simpler matters that she can control. However, much to her dismay, many of Flayn's attempts at friendship feel sabotaged by Seteth before they've the chance to start and it pains her most that she knows it is never his intent. She voices these concerns to the greenhouse’s plant life, unaware of present company.

The greenhouse is a sanctuary not unlike the monastery and Flayn finds respite in its verdant embrace. Her slender fingers had begun to reach into the soil to dig out a small hole to deposit seeds in when she realizes another person had wandered into the greenhouse without her notice. She distantly wonders if earlier ramblings were overheard, but dons a smile as she addresses the songstress nonetheless.

 “ Oh, Miss Dorothea,” she says offering a dirt-stained hand. “ No, wait a moment please. This simply won’t do. ” The pieces of earth are promptly brushed off as she wipes the hand against the fabric of her uniform skirt before offering it again. “ Ah, that is much better. What brings you here today? ” 

@scngstcss  ♡ ‘d

[healeann]

teeny, tiny starter call !! ♡

[healeann]

valkeirie‌:

Cethleann’s innocence and unrestrained delight embodies the peace of Zanado, as if the word itself had been personified into something lovely and gentle. It warms even the most secret corners of Seiros’ heart and the edges of her smile soften in a way that she did not usually permit. She could only imagine how Cichol must have looked after seeing Cethleann in her new dress —- it took a careful amount of restraint to keep her amusement concealed after conjuring the image.

“ It’s not forward at all, ” she answers honestly, genuinely, her voice as sweet as sun-warmed honey. Flattery she is used to. Being held in such high regard was nothing new – she was the first and favored daughter of the Goddess, so a pedestal she belonged on – but hearing it from those whom she held so dear coaxed the slightest hint of color just below her eyes. “ I have no doubt in my mind that you will bloom into such a splendid flower that you may even outshine the brightest star. ” Seiros was not usually one to be so liberal with compliments, but for the daughter of her dear childhood friend she couldn’t help but make exception after exception.

It was perhaps the one indulgence she allowed herself to have.

“ If you are not busy, would you care to join me on my walk? I think today I would appreciate your company. ” Most days she used her daily walk as a chance to be alone, to empty her thoughts and simply admire the divine beauty the Goddess had created for them in their very own paradise, but before she knew it, she was making yet another exception for Cethleann. She can almost hear Cichol’s voice telling her that she was spoiling the girl.

There are laws that seem to govern adults that Cethleann isn’t certain she will ever fully understand and she suspects that even her father was less inhibited in his youth. Mayhaps these wordless rules are the secret to the peace they bask in now, but Seiros’s face looks more radiant than ever, softening into some semblance of tenderness that does not escape notice. 

Cethleann basks in the praise like sunlight— pride warms her heart just as it does her cheeks which must be flushing a rosy pink. She is at the age where compliments like candy are accepted without any hint of skepticism. Lady Seiros does not spread falsehoods so her word is always good and true. It is nothing short of an honor to be asked to accompany the goddess on her daily rounds and manners are the farthest thing from Cethleann’s mind as she eagerly nods in affirmation. The first words she is finally able to pull from the fog of her brain are gratitude in simplest terms.

“ Thank you, Lady Seiros. It would be my privilege to join you, ” she voices with much affection. It feels appropriate to call such strolls a family tradition. “ I have heard from Father that in the past he accompanied you on these same paths. I am also told that he would stop to pluck flowers for my mother. Do you have a favorite flower? ”

[healeann]

valkeirie‌:

Her soul aches with the beauty of their home, the settlement safely nestled away in the Oghma Mountains, and the heavens must have felt the same ache as she – beams of light warmed the canyon and pale gold threaded through the sparse openings between tree branches and budding flowers, casting dancing shadows of leaves whenever a soft breeze rolled by. It had been hundreds of years, yet time would never stifle the wonder Seiros felt stepping out into their very own eden. But how could one expect any less of a place that housed the Goddess and her children?

The peaceful line of her mouth draws upward into a smile upon the familiar sound of Cethleann’s voice. “ Good day to you, Cethleann. ” Seiros finds her joy infectious, though she limits her response to an ever-pleasant greeting. Then her eyes are drawn to the exquisite craftsmanship of the dress, the carefully braided tassels swaying just slightly as Cethleann turned to show it off. Soft laughter falls sweetly from Seiros’ lips.

“ It’s a splendid dress indeed. Your mother is certainly gifted to be able to craft such a beautiful garment. ” Even the smallest details seemed meticulously tended to, from the cut of the fabric to the hem and the braided tassels. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how long it must have taken to finish such a piece. “ It perfectly accentuates your own beauty as well. ”

Lady Seiros’s beauty is rivaled only by her kindness— she radiates an aura of warmth and humility that serves as an example to all. Her heart is both blessed and burdened by the ability to feel so deeply, but in these harmonious times it proves only to be an asset that endears her to the people. The flowers of spring never look more lovely than when they are pinned in her verdant hair and frame her face just so. In some ways, Seiros has a humanity that separates her from the Mother’s arrant divinity. It makes her more approachable Cethleann thinks. Surely there are earthly tethers that Seiros abides by, appearances she feels bound by upholding, and burdens resting on her shoulders that she never speaks of. Cethleann can distantly recall her own mother’s voice gently reminding her that Seiros is one of them above all else. 

Her enthusiasm is without restraint, never having learned to need to conceal such emotions. She indulgently brushes a hand down the length of the dress just to feel the fabric against her palms. The significance of it all fills her heart with guiltless mirth however juvenile. To Cethleann, assisting her mother and learning to braid felt comparable to a coming of age, small steps toward adulthood. 

" Lady Seiros, ” she gasps in an undignified manner that her father would most certainly scold her for were he present. “ I must admit your praise is most flattering. This is, oh, heheh. Though I brought my father to joyful tears when he saw me adorn this dress, I have not ever felt more beautiful than hearing it from your own lips. You are the one whose beauty is beyond compare and I only hope that one day I may be more like you and my mother. Is that, perhaps, too forward of me? ”

[healeann]

Cethleann is a vision of innocence, the Mother’s love personified into corporeal form and fruit born from a benevolence spanning several generations. She is the product of parents that have lived untroubled lives under her divine protection for centuries. Although for a child of only several hundred years, this blessing is lost on her yet. Cethleann’s worries are so few and trivial that she could simply count them away on the fingers.

The skies above Xanadu are ever clear and bright as if the heavens themselves wished to greet the fair goddess. Seiros, the mother’s most beloved daughter, too was reasonably popular among the population. The inhabitants of the canyon all possessed similar features, but Seiros’ likeness to the goddess was without peer. 

“ Lady Seiros, oh, good day, ” she sings with child-like joy. “ I hope you are most well. I, myself, could not possibly be more jubilant. You see, my mother has finished constructing the loveliest dress and I am most proud to be its recipient. ” A turn of the heel to accentuate the hand-braided tassels of her new gown and its flowing skirt makes her feel more grown-up than it ought to. However, she fortunately manages to finish with a curtsy albeit accompanied by several giggles.

@valkeirie  ♡