for once i wrote this post up in advance KJSKSKJG so here we go! new muse time though certainly not an unfamiliar title for my wheelhouse in toa. here’s a basic run-down for coirpre for those unfamiliar with him:
a young boy smart for his age, coirpre is a priest of the bragi faith and is the adoptive son of the famed general hannibal, also dubbed as “the shield of thracia.” his father is essentially the closest thing king travant of thracia has to a right-hand man, but trust only goes so far.
their kingdom suffers from unfavorable agricultural conditions and oppressive import taxes for food, and there are no truly profitable industries in said kingdom either, so the primary method of making money to try and get food on the table is via hiring themselves out as mercenaries to other countries. coirpre is deeply patriotic, owing to his admiration of his honorable war hero father ( the man who treats him as if he were his very own blood-related son despite receiving derision for doing so ) and his close friendship with thracia’s own princess altena.
an envoy for the empire in the year 776, he is privy to both sides of the holy war but chooses his sides carefully, prioritizing his nation’s survival and the good of its people. despite being a man of the cloth, he has no hesitations of being snarky with others or even being honestly dismissive of them. your savior but by no means your friend until you get his approval— an angel with a devilish streak at times.
also the son of the dancer silvia and brother of lene by blood, but he cares little for his birth family. to him, his nation is his home, and that is where his happiness lies— not by some crazed hunt for who his “real” family is. due to this relation however, he has some holy blood in him, making him a descendant of a crusader— in his case, the high priest bragi.
i’ll be writing him post-fe4 by one year. no matter his birth father, he will be following his default ending of returning to thracia with his adoptive father, but who knows! things may change. for now though, he’s here to make his father proud [:
in regards to fe5 muses since coirpre does cameo in that game as part of an optional rescue mission, i won’t assume coirpre personally knows any fe5 muses sans leif and any those who talk about it with me, but i am open to plotting on the matter.
i hope to have a good time with writing him, and i look forward to showing my love for him to you all!
As a priest, Coirpre has had to study the ritual on the off-chance he was asked to officiate one. He's no major person on Fódlan, but he still would be remiss to neglect that aspect of himself, and so he likes to help out where he can, shadowing this continent's monks and nuns.
He's mostly just an errand boy today which suits him fine. He helps set the decorations up, ushers people to their seats, and when the ceremony begins, he gets to spectate.
It's not really like any wedding he's ever watched before.
That's not to say that Coirpre has attended so many to call himself an expert on the subject or anything, but he recognizes what differences he can. Most notable is the abundance of flowers he's had to help arrange and when the couple leaves the church, he is asked to use his wind magic to help with the picturesque scene that comes next.
A gentle breeze picks up flower petals and swirl them around, cascading them as they shower the newlyweds and the guests in attendance. There must be hundreds, Coirpre thinks, watching with an impassive face.
The bouquet is thrown. The people congratulate the person who caught it in the crowd, claiming that they'll be the next to get married. And then at the end of the day, all of the flowers are swept up and thrown away.
As he helps sweep, he finds the whole situation chilling. To think they have so many that they use them for stunts and then nothing at all afterwards, content to see their use and not consider it a waste.
The groom and bride even wore such blossoms on their person. Their cake was decorated with edible ones. Guests even wore it as perfume. Everywhere Coirpre turned his head, it was flowers, flowers, flowers.
It all seemed like too much.
“ You're a foreigner, right? ” To the nun's question, Coirpre just hums a ‘mmhm’ and nods. She continues, “ So, how was your first wedding ceremony in Fódlan, hm? ”
“ It was... different. ”
“ Oh? ” She cocks her head. “ How so? ”
What was he to say? What did she want to know? How much did she expect him to say? For someone who didn't really care that much about weddings as anything beyond procedure, he wasn't quite sure what was noteworthy and what wasn't.
Weddings back home simply just were as they always are. The only reason he's had an opinion at all about the one he's witnessed here is because of what it had that could never be attainable back home.
After some more moments of thought, he eventually answers, “ ...Back home, we don't use flowers. ”
“ Oh? Not a single one at all? ”
“ Not at all. ”
“ Is that so! ”
“ Yup. ” Coirpre sweeps the flower petals into an ever-growing pile. “ The bride doesn't carry a bouquet either. She carries a lance wrapped in a ribbon and passes it onto her husband. It's supposed to symbolize how the couple will be giving one another strength, because the groom's supposed to then give her a shield to show how they'll protect each other too. ”
The nun coos, gushing over this Thracian tradition as Coirpre just spits off facts. And that's when she says it:
“ What a wonderful way to begin your new family life! ”
He pauses. A new family life?
He supposes it's not the first time he's heard it, this notion that marriage is also when people become one another's family. But he hadn't really thought of it much yet in that way despite knowing it.
‘So where's the wifey?’ some mercenaries would ask Coirpre in a way to tease his father, Sir Hannibal. The man had never taken a lover, and he didn't seem to have any intentions on changing that. Though their family may look odd to some, a single father and his adoptive son, Coirpre wouldn't trade it for the world.
Given that his father never put any emphasis on marriage, neither had Coirpre. And unlike other noble families, Hannibal's house had never pushed Coirpre to have to think about finding a political match either. Their position as the Thracian royal family's right-hand was enough, and so long as their hearts were devoted to the people, they would find a way to do right by them.
They didn't need the messy entanglements of political marriages and offering oneself up as pawns for power. All they needed was the bond of their family and their love for their country.
But that's not to say Coirpre has never had matters of the heart, of a romantic nature, take him— that he knows not what it feels like to have his heart flutter or his cheeks to warm, or for his heart to want someone.
But he has never wanted someone more than he has wanted the best for Thracia. He has never wanted someone more than he has wanted to return home to the family he knows.
He has never wanted someone enough to consider changing that picture of family he has already made in his mind, and he knows not if that day will ever come where he will love someone that much.
But if it does... he'd like to think of them as a new chapter of his family life indeed. A new family member to have, one that he has chosen of his own volition because of what happiness they could bring him...
That there was the ideal form of marriage, he thinks, if it ever did come to that for him.
Coirpre was so forthright. But Seliph knew that he did not always have the luxury of wanting. He was a Chalphy and a king first. He owed answers and strength to his people first. It was not simply a matter of what he wanted. And it was not a cultural difference. The weight of the crown was immense. It was an intense pressure that Seliph had to deal with in everyday life. Fighting the holy war, he didn’t think too strongly about being king. But now that he was, he had to face every single decision with how it would affect his people.
It’s just….Coipre did not understand.
If he had the choice between helping himself or helping the people of Grannvale, he would help Grannvale a thousand times and not look back. Perhaps he could at least listen to what the healer had to say, though he could feel his own frustration growing. He refused to let his anger simmer out onto the other man. Seliph never wanted to be king in the first place. These were questions he never wanted to ask.
Maybe he was just insufficient. Someone else would be better off being the king. Seliph pressed his lips tightly together.
But he had resolved himself into this role. He had understood that wanting him more was something beyond his capacity, especially since he had never told anyone that he never actually wanted to be king. Selfishness was not something Seliph could afford to have. Just being at the academy right now was all the selfishness Seliph could afford. Right now, he desired strength more than anything else.
Seliph smiles before he begins to talk but the lines of his mouth are not genuine. He has to conceal his frustration somehow. “I appreciate your concern, Coirpre. I did come to this academy to become stronger and to study leadership. So that is very much my goal.” He pauses. “I do not think I fit into the example, because, right now, I am aspiring to be the best leader I can be.”
“ ......... ” If Seliph had truly listened and taken anything Coirpre said to heart, Coirpre wasn't convinced in the slightest. In the face of the swordsman's princely smile, Coirpre merely looks on unimpressed, his silence paired with a sharp gaze in the moments that pass afterwards his judgment enough.
But eventually the blond does speak. Where Seliph tries to speak genially, Coirpre's own smile does not return.
“ Goals and dreams are different. Goals should be sound. Dreams are limitless. But I won't waste my time or yours either trying to say any more right now. Not when you're saying stuff like that. ”
If Coirpre wanted to talk to a wall so badly, he had plenty of choices for that in this academy. ‘Didn't fit into the example?’ Fit into an example of explaining how empathy can help improve the living conditions for a ruler's subjects?
That was either an admission of an inability to empathize or an unwillingness to do right by the people in any way that actually mattered. If either were true, then Coirpre could hardly see what benefit there'd be in any potential alliance between Thracia and Grannvale again.
Coirpre turns to leave, but right before he does, he leaves one parting phrase:
Deirdre still finds it very hard to consider herself ‘high ranking’. Even with everything she now knows and the way she has lived for the past few years, it is all so strange. She certainly does not feel as though she has any rank above anyone else!
“I do appreciate that you would look out for me but I can assure you that there is no need to worry! Even without my brand, Lord Arvis would know immediately that I am his beloved wife.” A smile tugs at her lips with the thought. Imagine! A woman before her husband trying to impersonate her! He would surely know it was an imposter without even lifting his head to gaze at her. If what Coirpre says is correct, it would be quite a lot of risk for what would be impossible to get away with.
“It remains with grandfather in Belhalla, but it would not be difficult to send for the Book or Naga. There must be someone else that would be simpler to pretend to be!”
Interesting. Though Coirpre's stare is vacant, he has to admit that even if this Deirdre was indeed just an impostor, she sure was committed to the act. He's not sure most people with the guts to masquerade as her would bother, after all, with one of the details she mentions...
“ Yeah. There are simpler people to be, but your not being in the public eye much helps make you easier to pretend to be than you might think. ” He intertwines the fingers of his hands together in front of him as he muses, “ And the rewards for being able to successfully pull it off are also way higher than pretending to be anyone else.
“ But I'll believe you for now. ” No real harm in believing her versus not currently. Not unless she starts asking for outlandish things out of Thracia with her position anyway. “ If you are fake though, the touch of invoking Lord Arvis's name instead of Sir Seliph is smart. It really sells it, I think. Most people pretending to be you would probably have forgotten you were married to him. ”
“It is absolutely not the same! Things can hit you differently depending on distance and how they are thrown by the person throwing them! Projectiles can be finicky like that.” As a show, she aimed a few rocks at a nearby bench. Even though she threw them all at the same time, they arced differently, smashing into different spots against the poor slab of wood.
“Like say, there’s an archer who nocks an arrow at you. With less distance to fly, the arrow is going to have less time to build up momentum and the closer they are to you, the more likely it is to just bounce off without doing anything. But a skilled archer can pierce your heart through layers of metal miles away. Collision is different than gravity.” God, she sounded like such a know it all when she tried to explain stuff like this.
“Uh well… force is a whole thing at play here. Both when smashing something against something else, and in battle.”
In the short time he's spent with Morgen, Coirpre is given the impression she's a zealous one; that's for sure. It's almost impressive how much energy she has to expend on this all, not seeming even the least bit dispirited by anything he says to her, wanting to see things through to the end.
It's an admirable trait, he'll admit... privately. He can't say he thinks a compliment right now of all times would feel anything less than weird, and even if Morgen has infinite pep and an iron will to surpass shame, that doesn't mean he needs to have that too.
“ Got it. ” The priest goes over to collect all the tossed rocks from the bench before walking back to Morgen and setting them at her feet.
“ I'll try to prop up the safer pieces of the shields to simulate throwing them at a human person wearing it. After all, you're more likely to want to hit someone standing than someone prone. ” Though he normally wouldn't explain himself to that extent, he figures based on the past few minutes, Morgen would rather some explanation than none at all. Better to shortcut right to it then. “ If I can't prop it up though, I'll try to at least levitate it with some basic wind magic if you can throw the rocks at them while I'm doing that. ”
Arion isn’t like his father. An interesting point to make. Although Coirpre has been a frequent guest to the Thracian Royal Palace and can say he is close friends with Altena, he can hardly say much of her older brother himself. He always seemed busy, chasing after the legacy and dream his father before him had.
In that way, Coirpre would argue that Arion was trying very hard to be like his father. He would likely not take Ethlyn’s words well, Coirpre decides, but what Arion feels on the matter was of no import. It is only what he means to Altena that bore any significance to the priest, and he too was glad that Altena had him for the hours that Coirpre could not be at her side.
“ …I agree, ” he calms, sensing that Ethlyn had at least seen a bit of his point. The melancholy in her eyes is noticed but he does not pry. Not when prying will likely just inspire talk again of blood and the importance of it.
After all, it had been her who had grown indignant when Coirpre had mentioned Arion.
“ Your daughter, ” he decides to say, throwing the woman a bone for agreeing with him in some capacity, “ is the best woman to ever exist. I’d be awfully sad if I ever had to say goodbye to her forever just because someone else told me I had to. ”
Ethlyn wonders just how much Coirpre knows about the circumstances around his friend’s relationship with Thracia’s royal family. Altena herself hadn’t even known until she was an adult. She doesn’t blame him or his father for anything that happened, of course, but she notices how highly he speaks of Travant’s son. What would he think if he knew Altena had been kidnapped?
It isn’t her business to share the details of her daughter’s traumatic upbringing with the world so she forces the curiosity to the back of her mind. She doesn’t really want to get into her own issues with this young kid either.
Instead, Ethlyn sets a hand on Coirpre’s shoulder and smiles. “Don’t worry, alright? I won’t be that someone.”
Instead of answering, the woman only stares back at Lene, and a pang of frustration coils painfully in her chest. It was a simple question. Yes or no, maybe a little explanation. A little background? A reason why Lene has had to live all these years alone, wondering where she came from, and what became of her family. If being tossed away was for her protection, or because she hadn’t been wanted, or—
It isn’t until the woman’s gaze flickers to the floor in panic does Lene realize what’s happened, looking down to see specks of red on the floor and a bloody shard of glass splitting Coirpre’s palm. Lene gasps, and Silvia rushes to his side; it’s immediate and on instinct, with no hesitation to help the stranger before her.
The supposed son she left behind.
(Her brother. Her brother. Holy Naga, she had a brother.)
As Lene kneels at his other side, mind briefly catching on the woman’s mention of healing magic. Never in her wildest dreams would she think something so holy could be harnessed in the hands of a common dancer. It’s nothing she would have imagined for herself, at any rate.
“Hey,” Instead of touching his shoulder again, Lene’s voice is firm. Gentle, yet brooking no room for argument. “I know you want to leave, but if she can heal, let her. We need to get that mended as soon as possible.” A few concerned people begin to gather, and Lene looks over her shoulder at them. “If you’re gonna watch, then at least have the decency to help! Someone grab me a cloth and pitcher of water!”
She turns back to Coirpre. Thinking back on his discomfort, she hated to put him in this situation, but there was nothing Lene could do to fix it. Hops and twirls couldn’t heal a bloody gash, and at the end of the day, that was all she was good for. “I’m sorry. After this, you can go, stay—do whatever you want.”
@obragi
Before he can even pull back, Silvia is reaching for him and Lene is coming in as support. He's surrounded with few ways to leave without making a scene.
A part of him wishes to run away anyway. Who cares what scene he makes? It'd send an abundantly clear message to this woman all on its own and may even help solve his problem. And he almost does— almost has a childish fit and runs away, injured hand and all.
But Lene apologizes to him, gives him an option that's considerate of him after all of this, and he knows she's trying far more than him. His father wouldn't be proud to know his son has acted this way even if he'd be gentle about it, knowing Coirpre had put up a fight against people who were willing to compromise for his sake— for keeping the peace.
This was no battleground, but it's the most turmoil he's experienced— far beyond any skirmish or military offensive he's ever taken part of.
“ ...Alright. I hear you, Lene. ” He stays put, pulling the glass shard from his palm with a further wince, not wishing to have it still embedded when the wound would be closed. Blood further gushes and pools, but he does his best to remain well-behaved about it as he holds his injured hand out to Silvia.
There is no kindness in his voice. There is only the brattiness that he's been accused of when handed off to be looked after by mercenaries who clearly wished they were doing just about anything else.
“ If you can heal, then do it. But I'm not going along with whatever plan Lewyn set you up to, approaching us as you do. ” // @supportingdancer
Morgen felt their blood run cold. What a sharp boy this one was. To pick up on something they had tried to force out of his view. They stumbled back a little, trying not to betray any more emotion than they already had.
“Oh… my axe? It’s…” They sighed, trying to calm down the heart that raced at the simple idea of thinking about their past (or future, they supposed.) He had been the one to give them that axe, placed it in their hands before immediately instructing them to use it. They had been barely fifteen. They cleared their throat, trying to force themselves to think properly.
“Well, to be honest… it’s not meant to be used anymore. At least not that particular one. Maybe to test um… durability! How about we try throwing rocks at it instead?” They smiled, moving the topic from the future they had come from back to more scientific topics.
“From varying distances, of course! That way you can judge how far it can take a projectile from!”
Were things truly that simple? Well, he had pried once already. He doesn't see much use in doing it any further to someone he had only just met with no apparent ties to anything that could be useful to him. He ignores his hunch, one supported by such a swift change in topic like it were an escape, and he merely lets it go.
If he had cared, it could not be shown on his face: a portrait of absolute indifference.
“ ...Alright. But wouldn't it be about the same regardless of distance with a projectile? With a fall, the force was the accelerated speed of the armor itself. Whether I stone someone from a few meters away or a bunch of meters away, they're still getting hit by rocks. It kinda just sounds like you want to throw rocks at something for fun. ”
Ahhh, so that was what he had meant. Morgen figured that might make a bit more sense than what they had been thinking. Haha, sometimes they just really didn’t use their brain all that correctly. They fiddled with the broken piece of armor they had picked up, somewhat comforted by the shock that still ran through it to them.
“Oh! I can go grab my axe if you want to do some collision tests! I can also throw something really hard at it!” They laughed, hoping that Coirpre wouldn’t exactly ask for the axe. It had been a long time since Morgen had used it, and honestly, they rather wouldn’t. Some things were perhaps better left where they were meant to be. Morgen should have left that stupid axe in the future, but some part of them had clung to it, a reminder of everything that they had gone through.
“There’s plenty of tests to be done! If you want to do them, that is. Sorry if you don’t, I get kind of carried away sometimes. Especially with stuff like this! It makes my brain start trying to figure everything out, just because I’m so curious!”
“ It's fine. ” Despite playing devil's advocate for just about everything Morgen had been saying, it is to their apology that Coirpre at last says a kind word without any strings attached. Of course, it being his own brand, it is hardly anything to write home about, but it is sincere nonetheless.
He rises to his feet at that point and out of his crouch, glancing around at the carnage he had caused. “ A brain that wants to investigate things is good. It's better to want to question things rather than be complacent with everything. As long as it's your own thoughts bringing you to your conclusions.
“ My father was the one who told me that and I've taken it to heart ever since. Though you're right. You do look like you'd get carried away seeing as how you almost burned yourself instead of just getting shocked. ”
There was another thing. He normally wouldn't care to pry, but since it was them in the first place that suggested more tests...
“ Or like how you just suggested something you don't seem to really want to do, if I'm right. ”
He could be wrong. His intuition normally was decently sharp on these types of things, the kind he would leave be, but if it involved the next couple hours of his day, he figured it’d be better to take a stab in the dark to see whether or not he had correctly found the light.
”Thracia… I do not think I have heard of it, admittedly,” Minerva said with a small smile, but nodded regardless. “Oh? Who might that be? For one as courteous as you’ve been, even if we’ve only just met, I’m certain she must have a good character. I will most likely run into her, and I would love to know all about her.”
The same aura, though… “Does she have any younger siblings, then? I am often pinned as the, ah… Responsible type. I am not the eldest, so do not misinterpret - that delightful honour goes to my brother, who I hope, for your sake, you do not have to willingly encounter. He can be very… Trying. I do not wish to speak ill of others undeservingly, but there is a bit of a long story, here. I will save that for another time, though, as shopping for an outfit is no place at all to share your woes, mm? But, I did lead a regiment of my own, though - the Whitewings, who are a trio of sisters. They are as close as family to me, and I miss them dearly.”
Minerva laughs at Coirpre’s comment about her choices, because there was a reason for that, too. “I’ve spent so many years donned in nothing but armor, otherwise I would be more than happy to wear something more… What’s the word… Frilly? Gaudy?” She said, waving a hand. “Even if it isn’t to my tastes, if it makes my sister smile, then I will happily do it. Also, perhaps it is a little morbid of me to say, but black does hide blood well, amongst other things,” she said, thinking of the scars she had still healing from when she as in captivity.
Her eyes catch a bright hue of blue, and Minerva carefully sets down the black dress only to pick it up. “That is not to say I don’t enjoy a flash of colour, though. Even if this is outside of the norm for what I would normally choose,” she said with a laugh. “What of your family, then? Are they here with you too?”
Coirpre almost answers that the woman he speaks of has no younger siblings at all when he remembers that no, she very much did. It was so easy to forget, having never seen the young man until just a few years ago, and even then, it had not been at that woman's side.
Her Highness Altena may be an older sister by technicality, but it is hard for Coirpre to truly reconcile with that when such news came but only a year ago.
The priest listens as Minerva speaks of her own family and military accomplishments, statements that he nods along with to show that he is listening.
“ Her name is Altena, ” he answers at last. “ She's the princess of my country. She has a younger brother along with her older one, and she led a regiment of her own too, though things are a bit different now that there's no active wars back home. ”
Just as Minerva said of her own tale, this story was too long and inappropriate for a shopping excursion such as this.
“ But if you really are like Her Highness, I think the Whitewings must miss you too. If I wasn't here with Her Highness, I know I'd be missing her terribly. ”
He knows nothing of this trio of sisters, but he imagines he must be something like them. Altena may never have commanded him in battle, but he was someone who answered to her nonetheless and found her just as close as any family might.
Perhaps, to Altena, he was her very own Whitewing.
At her question of his own family, he shakes his head. “ My father isn't here, no. He's running the estate back home and reforming the military— those kinds of duties. Besides Her Highness, I'm all on my own. ”
Coirpre himself takes up a vest of ash gray, a bit inspired by talk of clothing colors.
“ It's not my usual color. Priests and nuns are encouraged to wear white. They say it reminds people that we're holy and clean, ” he explains, “ but I think your explanation is very practical. I'd say it sounds like it'd be easier for everyone to wear black then. ”
“You mean Wyvern Riders right? We have those in Ylisse. Though even when defeated, they are well trained enough to remain upon their Wyvern instead of just crashing to their deaths.” God, she sounded like such a stuck up idiot, that wasn’t like her at all. She was totally smart and cool! Not a big old doofus like someone like Lord Virion.
“What other tests might you suggest? Perhaps striking a sword or lance against it would work? Or maybe doing collision tests instead of falling tests?” She reached for the piece that she had struck with her thunder spell, realized a bit too late that Coirpre had told her not to. Luckily for her, she was quite used to shocks from thunder, as being a young mage, you made a lot of… mistakes so to speak.
“Huh… interesting. The armour seems to retain magic. That might end up being useful if you were to use it battle.”
“ No, not them, ” Coirpre shakes his head. “ Obviously a dracoknight should be able to stay on their own wyvern. It's the other way around you need to be worried about. What if they pick you up and then drop you? Your ally or your enemy. Rescuing an ally or capturing an enemy to steal their weapons... You should be prepared to be on the other end for either possibility as a foot soldier. ”
Even if the armor wasn't indestructible, the weight of armor at all would at least help make it more difficult for someone to pick its wearer up. As someone who has been picked up and carried around like luggage, Coirpre knew a fair amount of how inconvenient it was.
“ Of course, there's also being sent out to be intentionally captured by the enemy even when you have nothing on you. Then you really need to brace yourself for any possible escape route. ”
Was it an honorable way to fight? No. But was it a method he's seen armies use? Absolutely. Those who intend to win seldom got to choose the high road whilst they were doing so too.
Nevertheless, the priest watches as Morgen absolutely ignores his advice. She's lucky she didn't get absolutely scorched by metal retaining that built up heat.
“ Assuming it wouldn't be uncomfortable for the person to wear, ” he offers his rebuttal to her musing. It wouldn't mean anything if his father had to be given an extra disadvantage as well. “ I can't wield physical weapons, which is why I also went for the fall test. I can wield all three anima magic though. ”
“Oh, yeah? Alright there, Mister Big Shot!” Lene laughs at his comment. For someone with such a mild demeanor, the kid sure wasn’t lacking for confidence. A good thing, of course. Self-assurance and pride could carry a person far in this world. “Next time we can leave all the healing to you, then.”
Joking aside, he probably could manage it. Coirpre was quite the prodigy; she remembers being kind of awed by his skill with staves when he first joined up with Seliph’s army, easily able to keep up with the other healers who had been spending months honing their craft throughout the war.
Gilded bracelets glint in the sunlight as she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against bejeweled earrings. “But seriously, it’s nice to see another friendly face. Though… I probably shouldn’t be holding you up, huh? Seemed like you were on your way somewhere.”
“ Yeah, and I'll work hard and be just as reliable as I was back then, ” Coirpre banters with a self-confident grin. Though the hours of tending to everyone's wounds in the Liberation Army was tireless work, being put to use right away, it's an experience Coirpre walks away from being proud of.
He had trained to be a healer and he had shown he was capable— that he truly could be a backbone to an army to help the others jump into the fray and do what they need to do. In the world's darkest hour, he had helped to bring the light.
It was a good thing to be relied upon and being able to prove that that was the right decision. It means with even more studying, he could ensure he could do it again and again— as many times as necessary.
Though someone else might have wished to be powerful through sheer strength, Coirpre knows he is strong in his own way, even if it was from the backlines.
“ Mmhm. I've got to remember the map of this place by the end of today, or at least, I'd like to. I assume you're busy too. ” Whether it was of her own desire or someone else needing something of her, Coirpre knows that Lene was reliable and driven in her own way too. Perhaps that was why he liked her company every now and again that he got to share it.
Though they were of different worlds, they were similar in that core way, and he could respect her for that even past all the jingles and jangles her dancing brought.
Coirpre starts to go ahead a few paces again but not before turning back and offering a wave in farewell.
“ See you, Lene. ”
And then he was off, not realizing just how soon again that ‘see you’ would truly be.
Coirpre’s formality takes her back to an almost nostalgic time. Even as part of an arrangement, she enjoyed her visits to Thracia. Despite their reputation as ‘savages’ and ‘brutes’, the people received her amiably, diligent and attentive to her every need. What furtive glances and remarks of distrust there were fazed her little, for she could understand the reason—the nobles of the North, with their prejudices and harsh tariffs, had given the Southerners little reason to harbor good will. (And the South, with their aggressions borne from desperation, surely did not help matters.)
She enjoyed her talks with Arion. Admired him for the man that he was (that she still hopes he is, even now). It was not a romance, but a mutual understanding and respect borne from the shared desire to help their people prosper; a bond woven of mirrored responsibilities and burdens. Her time spent in the barren lands of Thracia had given Linoan sympathy for the country’s plight, and so she is overjoyed by the unification. By the fact that she can speak to individuals like Lady Altena, and even young Coirpre, without barriers.
As equals, working to support one home.
“Oh, nothing so as pressing as that,” She smiles warmly, “I simply wanted to say hello. It’s been quite a while since we’ve last spoken; I presume you’re here to further support your Lord Father in his duties?” With the ongoing reformation of the military, General Hannibal certainly had much on his plate these days. She wonders if Coirpre, practitioner of faith that he was, intended to follow in those footsteps one day.
“ Yes! Something like that, ” Coirpre beams, the mention of his father helping to shed off that practiced formality. Though Linoan's own smile and gentle words were surely soothing to some, it was her choice of conversation topic that ultimately got through more than any other gesture she made.
“ I'm here to study so I can try and become better-educated and trained in military pursuits. You know how Thracia is. ”
Though he hadn't spoken with Linoan much, she seemed a serious sort even with just how her Tahra was run. If Arion had chosen her to become the next Queen, surely she must have a good enough head on her shoulders to take to learning what kind of nation Arion's Thracia was like.
“ I figured if I became more knowledgeable in those, I'd be able to help my father with his duties as well. I owe him that much at the very least. ”
Coirpre may speak of duty and obligation, but it is with an unremitting love that he speaks instead, countenance glowing and softening with each word that passes through his lips.
He completely shuts down. She can feel the walls rising between them as Coirpre moves away from her touch, head bowed as he crouches to pick up the glass shards from the floor—she almost tells him to be careful, but he’s not a child; he’s responsible, he’s capable, and has proven that time and again—leaving Lene to glance up at the woman who’s seemingly caused this behavior. Coirpre demands they leave, and Silvia pleads for them to stay. Lene is just… confused.
Before she can ask the woman to explain herself, Silvia begins to do just that, her following words hitting like a shock of ice water to the veins. Kids. Kids. Her—her kids, what—
Her eyes dart over the woman’s figure. Vibrant, verdant hair that mirrors her own. The natural bearing of a dancer. The words of the sisters at the convent, echoing in her mind. ‘The woman who left you, she was a dancer.’
A dancer. Dancer. Dancer. That single word had become Lene’s lifeline. At the mention of Dahna, her chest tightens, and she looks down at Coirpre. Remembers the conversation they had when he and Hannibal first joined Seliph’s army.
…Dahna. The convent. No. It… could it…?
“This is sounding pretty damn crazy, yeah.” She feels lightheaded. Was this really her mother? What has she been doing? Where has she been all this time? Why did she— “…The Dahna convent.” Her voice is low, searching. “That ring any bells for you?”
@obragi
There's only so many pieces of glass for Coirpre to pluck up off the ground. Eventually, his excuse will run out. One by one. He can watch as it evaporates. But at the same time, the faster he can get out of this, the better.
He tells Lene to leave, but she seems to have no intention. This woman has cast a spell on her.
I must’ve been about two when a young lady, a dancer I think, left me at the convent. And that sort of explains why I became a dancer. I thought I might be able to find my mother someday if I did.
Words from a year ago ring in the back of his mind. Of course once Silvia had dropped the bait, Lene would then leap for it. Lene had even told him as such that all she danced for was for the sole purpose of finding her birth mother, and now she had gotten her wish.
If she won't leave with him, then he'll leave alone.
He speeds up the process, obviously rushing retrieving the glass shards off the floor until his haste leads itself to hubris. Crimson stains the ballroom floor, dripped from his hand as he winces in pain, biting his lip to suppress the noise that dares to try and slip out of his mouth.
He's stabbed himself in the palm with a greater amount of force than even he could have anticipated, blood gushing out of its center and splitting his skin. // @supportingdancer
Roy allows a short, quiet chuckle to escape him. Coirpre’s honesty is as brutal as it is almost endearing, in a way. A refreshing break after a long time of being surrounded by people loved and appreciated by him, but nevertheless focused first and foremost on supporting his whims and ideas, rather than countering them, even on occasions when it would have been necessary.
“Does look like it, haha.” Does not seem as though his opponent has a chance to stop him from connecting three circles now. Well, that was a thing.
With that out of the way for the time being, Roy turns his attention back to Coirpre, accepting his card and stamping it with a R. A. before handing his own card to the other student. At the sound of the question, he perks up.
“Chess? I do, yes. It’s been a little while—” he has been playing REAL chess on an actual battlefield, in a sense— “but I do enjoy a game. Do you?”
(Roy has given his stamp to Coirpre and received Coirpre’s stamp in return.)
“ I like it, though I don't have a lot of options for people willing to play, ” Coirpre answers as he leaves behind his own stamp for Roy, offering his C.H. initials without a proper introduction of who he truly was beyond those little letters.
“ Back home, I mean, ” he clarifies a bit further. “ Most mercenaries don't care for it, but I think it's good for keeping the mind sharp. Understanding your opponent is one of the first tenets of battle, after all. That's true in chess too. ”
Even if Coirpre had found someone who was willing to play, they usually didn't find it fun to play with a child back in those days. But it was awfully boring to have to lose on purpose too just to keep an opponent willing to come back and play again lest they throw a tantrum.
Adults.
“ If you don't mind playing and potentially losing, I'd like to some time. You look like a more fun opponent to try and beat. ”
Hands clench into fists and short nails dig into palms. Every word from Coirpre’s mouth stabs her in the gut. It’s a specific pain she has become all too familiar with both literally and metaphorically. She can’t let Altena forget her biological family. Quan has always been so proud of his holy blood and his heritage. She can’t let his own heir lose her connection to the Crusader Njorun. She can’t let him down again.
As awful as the distance between Leonster and Altena seemingly is, there is a part of Ethlyn that remains grateful. Her daughter was kidnapped. A prisoner. She has a hard time imagining someone like Travant being soft and kind, even to a young girl. But it seems as though his son is different.
“I’m glad this Arion isn’t like his father. I only want the best for her. I want her to be loved and happy. If this boy was able to give her that, then I’m glad. And I am glad she’s had someone like you by her side, Coirpre.” She doesn’t have to force her smile anymore though her eyes remain sad. “I can tell how much she must mean to you from how willing you are to stand up to me. My Tena deserves the world.”
Arion isn't like his father. An interesting point to make. Although Coirpre has been a frequent guest to the Thracian Royal Palace and can say he is close friends with Altena, he can hardly say much of her older brother himself. He always seemed busy, chasing after the legacy and dream his father before him had.
In that way, Coirpre would argue that Arion was trying very hard to be like his father. He would likely not take Ethlyn's words well, Coirpre decides, but what Arion feels on the matter was of no import. It is only what he means to Altena that bore any significance to the priest, and he too was glad that Altena had him for the hours that Coirpre could not be at her side.
“ ...I agree, ” he calms, sensing that Ethlyn had at least seen a bit of his point. The melancholy in her eyes is noticed but he does not pry. Not when prying will likely just inspire talk again of blood and the importance of it.
After all, it had been her who had grown indignant when Coirpre had mentioned Arion.
“ Your daughter, ” he decides to say, throwing the woman a bone for agreeing with him in some capacity, “ is the best woman to ever exist. I'd be awfully sad if I ever had to say goodbye to her forever just because someone else told me I had to. ”
