"perhaps it's time for a nice nap..."

-Linhardt, Heir of Hevring and Black Eagles Student at the Officers Academy-

[pridelessdaydreamer]

Pinned

pridelessdaydreamer - Linhardt of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. adored by kano (they/it/he)

Mobile Links:

muse / mun / stats / interview / affiliation

Other Muses:

valter (@knighteclipsed) / selena (@fluxrspar)

Portrayal Notes:

Linhardt is taken from the pre-timeskip of the game. It's a requirement for TOA, but like. Just to be abundantly clear. He's also perpetually trapped at age 16 for similar reasons.

They're a Black Eagles student by default and don't really see any reason at present to change that. You could maybe persuade them if you try hard enough, but like. Why?

For any teaching muses who may have him: feel free to assume she sleeps through your class. It's gotta be niche and specifically tailored to her current interests to keep her awake.

The gender- and pronoun-apathy in this one is real!!! Do not let them deceive you into thinking otherwise! As such, my narration will change pronouns from paragraph to paragraph—so yeah, just a heads-up. Gendered terms (aside from pronouns) will still be masculine/gender-neutral, but neither mun nor muse will flinch at a feminine form.

(The above is not evident in any posts before August of 2023; in those, she's exclusively almost exclusively referred to as 'he.' Sorry 'bout the gender, my guy.)

[pridelessdaydreamer]

A small letter could be find at the threshold of his rooms, accompanied on the side with a very small chest containing a cute and veeery tiny accessories - a little scarf: the letter was meticulously decorated with small bugs cutely drew with happy faces and cartoonish sembiances; at the center of the paper, a brief text written with a very clear and big calligraphy. The text was the following:

《 I hope Melchior will like the little gift I made for her! 》

On the back of the letter, a signature;

❀ the petite priestess ❀

It’s an unexpected item, finding the note and chest at his doorstep that morning. (He muses that that is the time, but really, it could’ve also been the afternoon; he hadn’t exactly bothered to check.) It was time to go out and do things at least—that much he knew—and it was only that much that mattered. When he opened the door, something knocked against it, and a letter lay present at his feet.

Another notice about missing homework, perhaps?

Eyes skim over it—just a few words and a signature on the back, but it’s enough to recognize the sender; a smile crawls. Sakura.

So they make to take the collection inside—they were definitely late to class already, what did a few minutes matter more? The contents are assessed—little knitted things, a scarf—and they glance over at Melchior’s terrarium; she seemed to be in a good mood today.

“Melchior, a friend has sent a gift for you.” (Carefully, the lid is lifted, and the scarf is laid down for her to reach.) “Not food, mind you.” (An additional thought, mumbled:) “Can spiders wear clothing?” (Judging by the way she crawls over but does not wear it—Linhardt assumes not. It was something for her to remember later.

I suppose I should thank her when I get the chance. (Sakura, he means, though the thought is idle and easily passes.) With the lid to the terrarium closed again, Linhardt walks back to his bed—it wasn’t like he was missing anything important anyway, so he might as well catch another nap.

[pridelessdaydreamer]

July Activity

Status: Exempt! (Semi-Hiatus)

Skill Points Earned: N/A

Current Total: 42 points

Classes Accessed: N/A

Classes Mastered: N/A

[pridelessdaydreamer]

JUNE ACTIVITY

Status: Passed!

Skill Points Earned: Monthly Activity Point

Any +1 (Monthly Activity Check): Authority -> A

Current Total: 42 points

Classes Accessed: Saint

Classes Mastered: N/A

[knightofgalatea]

Apterous

[knightofgalatea]

There was no sharpness in their tone, and yet Ingrid bristled all the same when Linhardt addressed her.

Her instinct was to roll her eyes and scoff, to deflect the implication that her presence at this hour was somehow more suspicious than her classmate’s expedition through the darkest hours of the night. After all, Linhardt was always sleeping, or lazing about, or toiling over their strange experiments. The monastery’s most somnolent student partaking in a midnight escapade was far more suspicious than her.

Ingrid eyed Linhardt warily, shifting on the dew-softened ground. There was something about her classmate that unnerved her, although she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what. Perhaps the way they were always staring into space, eyes unfocused, a curious sharpness nearly entirely hidden behind the fatigue and weariness Linhardt always carried. Perhaps it was the way they always seemed to be skulking about, emerging from the shadows like an emissary of darkness, only to immediately yawn in her face and wander away.

Whatever it was, it had Ingrid on edge. Especially now, as they stood in the shadows, staring at her with that sharpness that was so often veiled during class.

She squeezed the edge of her skirt between her fingers, managing to stop herself from rolling her eyes if only just. “I couldn’t sleep so I was taking a walk to try and calm myself. I saw some lights and went to investigate, and then, well…”

She gestured to the horse, smiled a little as it bumped its nose against her shoulder. This new, magical companion was friendly at least, assuaging some of the anxiety that was beginning to twist in her belly. “This one found me.”

Reaching out to press her palm to the horse’s neck she sighed, quietly thanking it for soothing her. There was often little that could waylay her nerves other than a good sparring session or a long, vigorous ride. But this helped, the steadiness of the strange creature, solid in the haze of the night.

She clicked her tongue, running a hand down its neck. “If you’re not here to hunt for wingless horses, then you must help me. We have to hide this one, so the hunters do not find it.”

The wind keened, a mournful cry as it ruffled her hair, and she felt her heart clog in her throat. Had Linhardt not been rambling about the magic of the horse? Of how it could fly, how it could potentially have some manner of crest to allow it wingless flight?She turned to them suddenly, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to experiment on the horse, are you? We absolutely must get it somewhere safe.” She frowned, remembering something else they’d said earlier. “And there’s a lot more to me than liking horses.”

[pridelessdaydreamer]

“Quite the far walk,” he says bluntly, before shrugging off the notion—Linhardt’s idea of a sleepless remedy was never to exhaust himself anyway. Whatever Ingrid chose to do couldn’t exactly be compared to Hevring’s method of sleep induction.

Also, Linhardt is just sleepy by default.

“Wait, what–? Why do I have to help? Surely, you can handle that yourself, can’t you?” (Not to mention that Linhardt wasn’t incredibly interested nor well-versed in the art of hiding horses, winged or otherwise.) “If anything, I’d be more likely to slow you down. We’re both well aware of my weak constitution, yes?”

Further, Linhardt just wasn’t the most interested in putting in more effort after she’d already wandered all the way out here. A huff. “No, I have no interest in experimenting on it either. Ignoring the fact that I don't have any tools with me to test it with, further observation would do better to determine just what exactly requires further investigation—so even if I wanted to, now wouldn’t be the best time.”

As for the comment on there being more to Ingrid than liking horses, they have no response.

A sigh, drawn out and exhausted by all the walking already done—“Be honest, how much voice do I have in this matter actually? Like, if I say no and walk away, are you going to stop me?” He wouldn’t be surprised if so, especially based off of what he’s heard/seen of the girl. (It wasn’t much, granted, and certainly, he internalized very little of it, but it made an impression nonetheless and that was what mattered.)

“How out of the question is it for me to simply brainstorm a place to hide the horse, tell you how to get there, and then go back to the monastery unbothered?” It’s an honest proposition, though he suspects he already knows the answer. “Thinking is something that doesn’t bother me too much—it’s doing that’s out of the question.”

[corvuschriisti]

wake up to bird calls... and the bird is naesala and the call is You're Getting Flung

[SHOWCASE] - Club Time, Linhardt & Naesala

[corvuschriisti]

It’s Club Rush at the Officers Academy! Some new clubs have popped up at the monastery and are looking to drum up new members – cooking, equestrian, languages, to name a few. If you’re looking to make some new friends, these are a great place to start! (Don’t mind the hazing rituals!)

This is not a church sanctioned club.

No, Naesala very much doubts that this sort of thing would be agreeable to the likes of the archbishop and her superiors. It might even make it so his contract isn't renewed for the next term. But Naesala is not a woman who is held down by other's expectations.

And also -- he doesn't plan on getting caught. So therefore there is no problem with what he's about to do.

He has wings that spread out several feet in either direction, and though those are quite the notable trait for him he thinks he can still get away with his plan if he shifts. There are other large birds around who could be blamed for this, aren't there? He wants to start his own club -- and what other way to get new recruits than by showing them a demonstration?

And there he sees the perfect subject. Napping at a table, no one around. Naesala looks down over the balcony and shifts into his bird form before soaring downwards.

He grips the shoulders of the sleeping student and pulls himself straight up to the sky; he will not drop his newest club member (even if aforementioned club does not technically exist in any form yet) and lets out a happy caw as he flies.

"Enjoy the ride!" comes his voice through that too-large raven's body. "I won't drop you, I promise."

@pridelessdaydreamer

[pridelessdaydreamer]

Linhardt does have a bit of a habit of sleeping when she shouldn’t; the mornings, the afternoons, the evenings—not at night though! (Nighttime is too good to be wasted.) With the right temperature and snacks, a comfy sleeping position and a dash of fatigue, well—heir of Hevring is not considered to be prideless for no reason!

But, to be fair—it’s not like she could help it. Most of her classes are boring, the weather so often is so nice, and… and…

Well, she was always so tired!

(Not now though.)

Eyes shoot awake at the sharp, sudden moment, the sensation of claws against cloth dragging them upwards—the boy’s first inclination being to figure out what in the world is happening–

“What?”

(Think, Lin. This is nothing too unfamiliar–) The bird spoke! That’s the first part—so then this is likely a dream of some sort, one where if Lin concentrated just right, or if they could will themselves–

No. This feels altogether too real.

—so onto the next possibility! The bird spoke. (Therefore, that meant the likelihood of it being a demonic beast or the like was practically none.) Then, considering a vague memory of one with bird wings (and there was also that other one, the bunny type they had found with Caspar the one time–)

Those types—they could shapeshift, right?

(Linhardt does not know this, but by Seiros it was his best guess!)

“R-Right…” (Geez, just how high up are they?) “But just to be certain, you aren’t kidnapping me, right?”

[pridelessdaydreamer]

that voice unspoken's heard

“Trends are cyclical, so they say. …” | Mission Board: Affluence | No Skill Point

[pridelessdaydreamer]

Trends are cyclical, so they say. The latest and greatest in fads sweeping Garreg Mach is the return of ~penpals~ except, erm, this time it isn’t just for fun. No, this time it’s a school-wide assignment! Students (and faculty!) are intended to be paired at random, so you could wind up with just about anyone as your partner. Of course, if you’d rather exchange letters with your friends, there’s nothing saying you can’t rig the system just a little…

Quill and ink and paper are collected to begin the task at hand: that is, to begin an exchange of letters between himself and some unknown other person—preferably someone Linhardt could get along with, but even if he didn’t, it wasn’t like Linhardt was bound.

(Worst case scenario, she could write the minimum number of letters and then… not reply anymore.)

Boy sits at her desk, pondering her parchment, before deciding upon how to begin:

—

Hello.

For the both of us, I’d like to hope we can at least get along. To that end, I’d like to ask what your opinion is on books? Preferably nonfiction, but so long as you read, I don’t really care.

Literacy is important.

Farewell,

—

A moment passes where Linhardt deliberates on whether or not to sign their name or remain anonymous. (On the one hand, if it is a student they are assigned to, they don’t care if they’re recognized or not.) If it is a teacher, however—well, Lin’s intended bluntness would not do them very well, so they think. (Nor would the not replying plan.)

—

P.

—

(It doesn’t stand for anything.)

@hermidetta

[pridelessdaydreamer]

May Activity

Status: Passed!

Skill Points Earned: Mission Board Authority, Monthly Activity Point

Authority +1 (Thread: how to fly your pegasus): Flying -> B (½) Any +1 (Monthly Activity Check): Authority -> B+ (½)

Current Total: 41 points

Classes Accessed: N/A

Classes Mastered: N/A

[pridelessdaydreamer]

[ Romanesco Smoothie ] - A sweet milkshake with a pretty green color. The whipped cream and fruity taste mask the fact that half of this was made with broccoli and other vegetables. Good for sweet tooths who refuse to eat their greens.

she's hard for words right now, considering she's recovering from the nightmare of being walt grissney'd, but she has enough spirit (desperation?) left in her to crawl back toward the refreshments.

initially she had gathered two or three cups in her arms to hoard for later—because like hell she's coming out of her room or speaking to anybody after tonight, for as long as she can absolutely help it unless someone else she likes "dies"—but life works in funny ways. tonight, life brings her to linhardt, just as she nearly makes it outdoors.

she looks as exhausted as expected from a social gathering like this, eyes bloodshot and purple hair mussed back to its haggard mop. bernadetta blinks slowly at linhardt. then she looks down at her cradled drinks. back to linhardt. back to the drinks.

after a few seconds of awkward contemplation, bernadetta holds out one of the smoothies. it's pretty, green and fluffy. it reminds her of them. as soon as it's out of her grasp, she pats herself down until finding whatever else she's got: a teardrop crystal. she offers that to linhardt, too.

"... you didn't see bernie here," she wheezes in a breath, like she's been punched. "take this and tell them all i died. so i can't come to class for, um, another month. yeah. okay, bye."

Bernadetta looks like a mess. Linhardt can respect that.

There is a long moment of silence where nothing is said. Bernadetta’s eyes drift between Lin and the drinks. Linhardt says nothing. When the drink is offered, he accepts it, but he still says nothing. It is only after Lin has received the crystal that any words are exchanged, and even then, the mage hardly has anything to say.

“Okay,” is their response. A beat.

A month? (By the sound of that, it sounded like she cast a spell on herself ahead of time to revive at some predetermined time—that, or she was going to enter some sort of coma.) It sounds unlikely to Lin all the same, but she could come up with something better for Bernadetta later.

“Okay.” (At this point, he’s just talking to himself.) Okay.

[pridelessdaydreamer]

[ Fireflies ]

"Lin, check it out!"

Caspar raises his clasped hands above his chest, watching the dark gaps between his fingers. It takes just long enough for him to open his mouth and explain, but then it finally happens—a buttery yellow light flashes from inside the cavern created by his palms.

"It feels like it's been forever since I've seen one of these guys. One of my old tutors told me that if you catch one and release them, they'll grant you a small wish."

He opens his palms, allowing the beetle to freely crawl up his fingers.

"I always thought it was just a story, but then again, they already glow and all. Maybe there really is some kinda magic involved?"

The bug lets out another little flash of light, almost as if in response to Caspar's suggestion. (Probably not, though.) Then there's another flicker, this time of wings spreading out from beneath its shell.

"Oop—it's about to leave. If you wanna add a wish, you'd better make it quick!"

“Hm?”

A lazy gaze casts itself towards Caspar, hands clasped as though holding something precious to his chest. It is spoken of vaguely at first, but then the treasure is revealed—

—a firefly, carefully cupped.

“I highly doubt it,” the mage remarks, but they know that isn’t really the point now, is it? The bug crawls about, both eyes following its path, lights flickering by its own will: no other. It is just the same that a wish may be granted—perhaps now, someday, or never at all.

Eyes furrow—“Am I meant to say it alou– oh, nevermind.” (Her eyes flutter shut, a concentration rarely seen forming.)

(A wish, so it is, as silly as it sounds. Even though an insect could never enact the whimsy of a human; its glow is akin to the stars at night, and maybe that is tie enough to the goddess–)

His eyes open, the little bug flying away shortly after. “Seems I finished making my wish just in time.” With a sly smile, knowing of superstitions, he then adds, “What did you wish for, Caspar?”

[egittae]

Lambert chose to hear the kid out, even though everything in his being begged for him to get out of the room as soon as he could. It was so stupid to feel this way, all because a literal teenager was standing before him and asking odd questions, but there was just something about it that filled him with unease. Like walking through a quiet forest, but knowing that there are eyes on your back. They could be from a prey evaluating if you are a threat, or from a predator considering their next meal.

Linhardt’s demeanor was seemingly gentle, lazy, harmless. Even the tone of their voice seemed uninterested in keeping up with the energy around, instead choosing to mirror the frequency of the wind gently blowing from incoming winters. Nothing in them could even suggest a threat to Lambert, or at least not at first glance.

But those eyes, those eyes of cobalt that stared through his very being.

The fact that Lambert saw no malice in those eyes or on their voice tone, that this youngster’s mere curiosity felt more intense and burned more than any attack they could’ve attempted to unleash against him- that was horrifying.

And so, the professor heard what they had to say. Arms crossed, patient, expression unchanged.

A blink. He shook his head. “Hold on- hold on.”

“What in the blazing flames are you talking about?” Dead king of Faerghus? An usurper? What did all of this even mean? “I do not wish to usurp anything, and I am quite sure that I am not dead either. Where did you even get those theories from?” His brain was spinning in place, Lambert almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it all. That he was somehow a secret member of the royal family of all things, or even better- a dead king who managed to drag himself out of the grave. It was utterly ridiculous, Fódlan didn’t even practice necromancy. The dead sadly stayed dead, it had no return.

He really, really wanted to believe in his own words, but the moment he realized he didn’t even possess conviction in his denial, his heart began to race.

“...I…I have a crest, I do not know which one it is. And I am not dead, okay? I am just-” What was he?

He couldn’t remember. Sure, teacher of the Ashen Wolves- but that was just the new persona he created to fill a void. He couldn't meet Linhardt in the eye.

"...I just do not remember."

No, he couldn’t understand. He just couldn’t accept any of this. The Goddess gives and takes, but she doesn’t grant second chances at life.

…right?

@pridelessdaydreamer

[pridelessdaydreamer]

“Well obviously you aren’t dead,” Lin replies with a light shrug. “If you were, you’d successfully fooled quite a few people—and by ‘quite a few,’ I mean ‘a lot.’”

Because the professor seemed to be very much alive, which was a part of the reason Linhardt was only mostly confident in his theory. The forces that would be necessary to undo history—or (if somehow, the king of Faerghus had survived) cloak the survival of the Kingdom’s ruler—would be utterly unheard of, save for the scale of feats achieved by Pasithee and her allies; perhaps the Projectionist also, though this didn’t seem her type of thing.

The boy then opens his mouth to continue—to assert that, yes, it is the crest of Blaiddyd—but then the man admits to not knowing (as a blanket statement of things, non-specific), and a rare sense of self-awareness suddenly takes over them.

“…”

What exactly is the appropriate response for a social circumstance such as this? (Their insides feel like scratching at the surface, unearthing more and more details until mostly confident could become entirely so.)

…At the same time, Lambert—the professor, the man right before them—seemed to lack the ability to look them in the eye at present, and in most situations, that was a sign for one to back off.

“…” (She sighs.) “Then…”

If Lambert was the risen dead, memory loss didn’t seem too out of the question, did it? (Whether one followed theological death—that the soul possessed one’s character and memories, and when death comes, the body is left behind—or sought a more empirical approach—that it is all in one’s skull and the mystery of its function; dying was the end of the human condition.) Undoing death, therefore, would have some sort of consequence, would it not? If magic can restore life, why couldn’t the cost be memories?

Linhardt is not too well-versed in dark magic—black magic, like Fire and Wind are incapable of such a feat, and it is too unholy to be Faith, she reasons—but that is what stories speak of its miracles. Great outcome at an even greater cost.

But Lin feels she probably shouldn’t say that.

“…Do the staff get charms?” (An awkward change of topic, but it is not often Lin does that sort of thing anyway.) A black feather is produced, and the student feels a retroactive relief the ball had been given such a side task.

“We can exchange them, if you’d like.”

[egittae]

this ball is a hecking nightmare | linhardt mini

continued from here.

Breathe in, breathe out. No normal questions about where the beverages are or how’s the music going. No, the kid had to go straight to the point, apparently not having forgotten a single thing from their brief first meeting. Lambert thought the student looked like the forgetful type- because despite the questions they had this sleepy look on their eyes…that the professor wondered- and found comfort in- if they were just sleep deprived and speaking nonsense. 

No. The kid was serious.

“I did not need Hanneman for that.” Sadly. Lambert wasn’t going to reach for Hanneman either way, but enough things had happened to give him the confirmation that he didn’t even want to reach. Yes, he did have a stupid crest. No, he didn’t know which one it was, he couldn’t care- all he knew was that it was successful in at least completely destabilizing every perceived notion of peace he thought he had reached.

His body wasn’t his. He simply happened to share it with that star from hell.

“Why do you care anyway, honestly?” The professor’s tone was tired, almost whiny. It was unintentional but at this point he was trying his hardest to hold on to something, anything that could allow him to at least conclude his job. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to go to the Abyss and hopefully stay there until his mind figured itself out.

Though, he couldn’t, could he? He’d be running away from the very thing he came here to do.

Shouldn’t he be striving to regain his memories? Why such cowardice?

“What is the big deal of me having a crest?”

@pridelessdaydreamer

[pridelessdaydreamer]

“So then you believe me.” (Surely, he must—that sort of reaction certainly didn’t sound like doubt.) It was either that, or he’d somehow determined that he didn’t have a crest, and that would put them back at square one—but no, Lin was certain Lambert now understood. It was in the way the man spoke that gave it all away.

Which only left a handful of potential steps forward, but that would be dealt with in time.

“In truth, whether or not you bear a crest is of little import to me.” Perhaps the scholar sounded a bit contradictory in saying so, but the truth could only be the truth: there are plenty of crest-bearers out there, and the crest of Blaiddyd was not the rarest. “What matters is that it is the crest of Blaiddyd, and that can only mean so many things.”

They iterated them back in their first meeting: a hidden relative (or a lost one), a miracle spark that had gone unnoticed, the king of Faerghus risen again—all completely unlikely scenarios.

But then again, how many foreign graves walked the Academy today? (Though Linhardt had never caught precise names, he had heard them in rumors—and anything was possible if you could not disprove it.) Was it truly so impossible that one of Fódlan’s could stand amongst them?

(He bears the name and visage of the late-king—was it truly so impossible?)

“If you are who I think you are, then that mystery is soundly solved. Your kingdom believes you’ve been dead for four years, and your brother is in charge until your son can be.” (One might note the degree of casualness it is said with, as though telling a person they have died was a common occurrence.)

“If you happen to be someone else though, you’d probably do best to go into hiding, just to avoid trouble.” (A short pause, before adding:) “Unless you intend to usurp the throne—in that case, you should hide anyway instead of stirring up trouble where the church and crown prince can see you.”

A hand extends then to Lambert, more so as a gesture than an ask of any sort. “Regardless, I can’t make you think one way or another, so whatever the truth is, I’m sure you’ll understand?” (Another nonchalant shrug.) “Or something—I don’t know, but you get it.”

[egittae]

Dimitri.

That’s the first person Linhardt thinks of when she sees the head of blond hair in the crowd. She can’t see his face, but with a casual glance passing over him, it was (quite reasonably) her default response.

Eyes return to the figure, however, when the silhouette settles in; the shape of his hair, the height of his character. Linhardt looks back at him because he is decidedly not Dimitri, but rather: someone else.

Lambert. (From that one time–)

They make their way over, careful not to bump into anyone while keeping their eyes locked on the not-king. When they arrive, they place themself right in front of him: just to really get a good look at the man’s face.

“...”

All was okay, perfectly fine. The ball was progressing as it should, no fights had broken out yet and the students seemed to be doing quite the good job in keeping things civil and friendly, and most importantly balanced with the drinks being offered. If anything it was boring really, as a part of him almost wished for something to spark up so he’d have something to do that didn’t involve being blatantly exposed to his mind that seemed to be on a vicious tirade tonight. 

It was fine. Just focus on the kids and don’t think about anything else, the ball will be over before you know it and then you can sleep it all off.

He still felt it, the nauseating burn within his body- though weaker than before as the wretched crest seemed to become dormant once more. Or rather not dormant, but simply inactive for the time being. It was horrifying really, to feel that his body held on to a power with a mind of its own, and that now it seemed to have finally managed to wake up from the hibernation it had been sleeping through.

Lambert sensed someone standing before him- that was the correct word, because from his view he could only spot the top of a head. At first he thought it was just a student passing by, perhaps searching for a friend, but…they stayed. And stayed.

Azure eyes flickered down, meeting similar hues of blue- though not the same as his own. Cobalt, staring, searching, inquiring, all in the same iris, framed by dark green hair and a pale face.

Who- oh

no.

Oh it was that kid.

Lambert stared at Linhardt for a solid moment, partly stunned- trying to wonder how to even respond. Keep it simple and typical. “Linhardt, hello. Do you need anything?” He adjusted his posture, crossing his arms. “You wish to ask any questions?” Please ask for something normal like where’s the bathroom, please ask for something normal-

[pridelessdaydreamer]

Linhardt’s house inherits the Ministry of Domestic Affairs. It is for that reason that he is well-read on all matters regarding the interior. Administration, finance, law, and so on—that is the knowledge Linhardt must know.

That said, her best friend is of the family of Military Affairs—which is, for all intents and purposes, responsible for knowledge of the exterior. The focus is in military combat, but through visits, Linhardt has heard names, casually read over deeds, and seen the faces of those who had died.

In particular, they recalled having seen the dead of Duscur.

Lambert didn’t look exactly like the portraits—the armor of Blaiddyd no doubt inflated one’s presence a bit—but now, of all the times Linhardt had seen him (note: this was just the second), the heir of Hevring recognizes what could only be the late King of Faerghus.

(There is a noticeable pause before they respond:)

“Did you ever see Professor Hanneman? Did he confirm the presence of your crest?”

[pridelessdaydreamer]

engagements.

It is the noble thing to do to attend a ball—and by ‘noble,’ Linhardt means it’s the type of thing that nobles would do, not that the act in and of itself was somehow a valiant thing. (In truth: it wasn’t.)

All the same, Lin arrives, though it takes much will to bother waking up, getting dressed, styling their hair, leaving their room, walking to the venue, arriving at the venue, and entering the venue. This was the sort of thing Linhardt would imagine Ferdinand enjoying, and they’d already been once, so why bother a second time?

(The answer was food. Caspar being there also helped a tad.)

A brooch of some sort is given to Lin when she reaches the threshold, and she takes it, heeding the command given: to trade it with the others.

A hassle, really, but he already had the brooch.

Tracker.

Linhardt’s Brooch: Black Feather Collected Brooches:

Black Feather: Edelgard, Sophia White Feather: Kliff, Sakura, Dimitri String of Pearls: Lambert Small Bell: Deirdre Teardrop Crystal: Marni, Bernadetta

(Outfit + description beneath the break.)

A dress that plainly states its higher quality—one would not be out of line to assume it is the property of a noble. Though there is a window in the chest, the multiple layers worn show white fabric instead of skin.

Boots, gloves, and hairstyle are the same as last year’s—one can only expect so much from the heir of Hevring. Perhaps the dress was commissioned by his house to be worn at this occasion? It is easily presumed, but no words spoken would ever confirm it…

[pridelessdaydreamer]

April Activity

Status: Passed!

Skill Points Earned: Mission Board Authority, Monthly Activity Point

Authority +1 (Thread: um. actually-): Authority -> B (½) Any +1 (Monthly Activity Check): Authority -> B+

Current Total: 39 points

Classes Accessed: N/A

Classes Mastered: N/A

[hermidetta]

[ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ] : sender has just found the receiver who's been missing for weeks.

“Hello again, Bernadetta.” (Though they do not smile, there is a hint of amusement in their voice.) “I imagine your sudden disappearance was on purpose?”

Lin wouldn’t be surprised if so—with how often Bernadetta took to her lonesome, it was only a matter of time until she vanished without a word. (Or maybe there was a word—just not to the masses of Garreg Mach.)

Of course, it also could’ve been that she was kidnapped and just recently rescued. Linhardt wouldn’t know.

“So, how was your time in perfect isolation?” he continues, hardly taking a moment to pause. “Find any new hobbies? Sculpting, perhaps?”

* for you i would.

i'm learning to become all the space i need.

"more water for you, less water for you—a cute little bug for you, and a sprinkle of fertilizer for your neighbor! wow, that stuff's stinky. almost as stinky as that owen dart guy." and bernadetta gets professor dark's name wrong on purpose just because, a jolly little hmph and hum in tow as she tends to her plant children. so caught up in herself she is that linhardt's presence sneaks up on her like an afternoon shadow.

"eep! lin, li-linhardt!" she sputters, watering pail fumbling in her hands; it jostles between her grasp a few times before she finally catches ahold of it, both arms crushing the tool to her chest with a heavy slosh. bernadetta spins around to him with puffed cheeks and a tiny stomp of her foot.

"bernie almost had a heart attack! how are you so quiet, huh? like a sneaky garden snake, but fluffier!" all huffed without any real bite—if anything she's more embarrassed that he might have overheard her gibberish.

come to think of it, though, linhardt is probably the first person she's really had to speak to in... how many skipped lectures was it now? probably longer than what was socially acceptable. simmering down some, bernadetta sets down the watering pail and fiddles with her thumbs behind her back, swaying in place while avoiding his gaze.

"well, um," she starts, miles gentler and with a tinge of shame, "yes? uh-oh, you're not here to tell me our professors are upset, are you? and instead of new hobbies, it's more like bernie's been hiding with old ones..."

like gardening, an arm meekly gestures. "... but you found me, so now what?"

[pridelessdaydreamer]

She hadn’t meant to scare her on purpose—though, Lin was also aware that sometimes it was part of the course. Mage didn’t exactly make a habit of making herself known before entering or exiting locations (mostly for the ease of leaving, if desired), and to one who’d been successfully avoiding human interaction for who knew how long, perhaps Bernadetta had simply forgotten to keep her ears open?

Or she just startled easily; it could be either or. (Or both.)

All the same, Linhardt is… “‘A sneaky garden snake, but fluffier.’” (So Bernadetta had described.) “Huh,” is all they reply with. A moment passes to ponder what was said.

Then, a nod. If she means my hair, then green isn’t an uncommon color for a snake, even if it’s typically not this precise shade. At the least, it would certainly elaborate what she meant by ‘fluffier.’ “I see.” Moving on:

“Anyways, I’m not going to tell the professors or anything—since nothing bad has happened to you, I don’t see why I should.” Stepping forth to squat down next to the plants, they look over the collection Bernadetta has been caring for, noting each of the various species and their types. “I’m not exactly fond of going to class either, or talking to others all too much.”

(A gentle poke at one of the safer plants.) “I must say, I never expected you to be a gardener though.” A closer look is granted to the closer ones, checking for signs of good care or poor health. “From the looks of it, you’ve done a good job too.”

Then the boy stands up, then finding a spot against the wall and laying against it. With a stretch, he continues: “Don’t mind me though. I’m just here for a nap.”

[egittae]

feeling (staring like the autism creature)

93. exhausted

After a generous gulp of water, he let out a drawn out sigh- cleaning the sweat off his face with a piece of cloth and pushing his hair back with his other hand. It had been a fairly long training session and he was positively exhausted, but it had been a good one. Memories or not, if there was one thing Lambert could tell his body remembered well and craved for was exercise and training, even more reasons for him to believe he was a soldier. Besides, he needed to keep his form in good shape if he wanted to do well for his class.

Lambert often came to the training grounds when it wasn’t in use, resulting in fairly odd training hours for him, but he cared little. It felt good all the same, even more when it could get his blood burning through his veins like right now. Part of him wonders if he saw a weird,  little blue-ish light reflecting on the lance he had just used to train (which now looked…nonexistent, it almost vaporized in his hold- but it was an expendable training lance) but he was quite sure it was just because he was tired. Just a trick of the mind.

The man sat down on the ground, crisscross, to slowly cool down and do some finalizing stretches…when he felt someone staring.

It was common now, people staring at him. Part of him feels unnerved but the other assumes it’s natural since he’s new. A blue eye searched around and…voilá, student spotted. A lanky-looking one, definitely the magic type, with green hair. Standing there, staring. It was weird but at the same time it was the type of weird staring Lambert grew to expect from the kid students.

“Hello there, may I help you with anything?” He offered the student. If his assumption was right and the kid was a mage then…well too bad, Lambert was quite sure he had no magic aptitude, but it was polite to ask anyway.

[pridelessdaydreamer]

If asked by an outsider why he was here, Linhardt would say it was for training.

After all, he did have lance training to be getting too—those flying certifications weren’t going to be passing themselves—but Lin’s motivation to swing around a spear was so incredibly lacking that, most often, he’d just walk over to the training grounds with just a book and a pillow and sleep. (Or not even a book—he could not always be so bothered to pretend.)

This time, however, though she presents herself with the intention of pretending to train again, she notices another in the grounds as well—a strange hour, she notes, but otherwise, she does not bother too much.

Except… he notes a tinge of magic in the air, just at the last second—eyes dart up, noting the fading blue of—

No. (That couldn’t be, could it?)

The characteristics were vaguely familiar—blue eyes and blond hair were very much like House Blaiddyd’s lineage—but this wasn’t Dimitri. (Linhardt had met the boy once, and he wasn’t this man—not to mention the latter’s lancework seemed far too seasoned for any student of the Academy).

Linhardt is absolutely staring. They don’t really care.

Could it be Rufus, the king regent? (He was also of House Blaiddyd, but—as far as Linhardt recalled, he didn’t have a crest; that was why he was merely the regent; the title of ‘king’ had been passed to his brother instead.)

He’s talking to her. (Linhardt blinks.) Then she gets up and walks over to him, staring perhaps a bit too closely.

“Who are you, exactly?” (Eyes narrow slightly, trying to pick out any clues.) “You’re not Prince Dimitri, but you have a crest, so you’re not his uncle either—that’s obvious.”

“If I had to guess, I would say you’re the late-king Lambert,”—leaning closer—“you look the right age, at least.” With a shrug, falling back, he continues: “But he’s been dead for four years, so that can’t be it.”

“Are you some unheard of crest of Blaiddyd bearer, unrecorded thus far by history?” Eyes light up, a faint but noticeable spark in the scholar’s eyes. “This could be quite the breakthrough in crest research, you know—the crest of Blaiddyd has become increasingly rare.”

[egittae]

Half of Lambert expected the student to run off embarrassed for being caught staring. The other part assumed they’d actually approach and ask a question- but something tame, such as advice or a simple ‘what’s your name’. He did not expect the kid to literally come over to him and bombard him with a series of questions and assumptions that sent his already blurry mind spinning- and the man couldn’t help but stare back, blond eyebrows arched and blue eyes slightly widened in mild shock.

“...excuse me, what?” Still sitting down, he turned around to properly face the lanky student despite feeling almost exposed, as if he had been being analyzed under a magnifying glass. Lambert knew what crests were, that was a given. But he also knew that they essentially only showed up in noble families as they were an extremely valued trait. He was no nobility, so for him to have a crest…it would make no sense. 

And then the king thing. Lambert had been told that before, that he held a striking resemblance to that King Lambert, down to the name. But Lambert himself had never even seen a picture or painting depicting said king, so he couldn't exactly judge the resemblance himself. Perhaps...the library must have something. Dead for four years now, huh…”It is a mere coincidence, I think…I have nothing to do with that King Lambert. Two guys cannot have the same name?”

He sighed. His brain was struggling to keep up with all this information. “I am a man of Faerghus, and my name is Lambert, but I am no noble…and I am most definitely sure that I do not possess any type of crest. I think I would surely know if I did.” He was just some soldier with lucky genes and an equally lucky name. "I am no king or lost family member either." The royal family lived closer to the north of Faerghus, didn't it?

“What is the interrogation for anyway? Is my appearance that odd to you?”

[pridelessdaydreamer]

It comes as no surprise to Linhardt that he was confused—most people react that way when bombarded with questions. (It was, in short, incredibly unhelpful—not every circumstance allows the affordance of hesitation in communication after all.) Mage almost posits further questions, when the mystery man continues:

His name is Lambert?

Eyes widen immediately at the remark, puzzle pieces falling into place behind the scholar’s eyes. (So they shared a name, and a crest, rough age and appearance—this theory is looking more and more plausible by the second.)

Would it be wrong to drag Dimitri into this? (If Lin was wrong, he might be getting his hopes up for nothing—assuming his hopes got up at all, but most people’s would, mage thinks.) Either way, he should perhaps gather more information—create an irrefutable case—before suggesting such an outlandish idea to anyone else.

“I see… I see…” (Yes, there were plenty of things she’d have to research before reaching out to others.) “Alright then. You don’t look like you’re lying, at least.”

A counter-theory—because walking into an investigation with a presupposition could be a guide at best, but should not solely determine your search: a distant relative, so far removed from Loog and Blaiddyd that the living Lambert had never been considered to be tested for a crest.

“You do have a crest though—I’m certain that I saw it.”

But then, what are the odds of having the king’s name? (It certainly wasn’t coordinated between parents—that would require a link.) Perhaps it was a piece of evidence to be dismissed—but that was lighter evidence anyway, and to completely discard Lin’s original theory would require the solid refutation of everything else.

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask Professor Hanneman—he’s a crest researcher who teaches here, if you’re unaware, and would be able to test for certain whether or not you have one.”

Linhardt would probably eavesdrop on that, if possible.

“If you go, do let him know Linhardt sent you.” With a nod, mage takes his leave.