vincit qui se vincit.

private xander of fire emblem fates. affiliated with the officer's academy. sidebart: 藻 | icon: kanapy-art

[rexexemplar]

so, what are your intentions?

verseandrhyme​:

Oh. Mitama pauses for just a moment as Xander presses on. 

She is so used to Siegbert’s…calling it denial seems cruel and dismissiveness heartless, but she is so very used to Siegbert shrugging off any concerns regarding the future that to find King Xander immediately agreeing with her is. Refreshing.

Even if her smile thins and mood worsens as he brings up her father of all people, as though he has any concern or say in the matter. “Well it is lovely to hear that my father has managed to secure positive merit in any form, thank you.” She responds flatly. “Though no one should waste their time concerning themselves about him.”

Mitama sighs and closes her eyes. This is not about him. She knows it. But in face of all of King Xander’s other comments and remarks, she cannot help but wish, just slightly, that it could be diverged enough to take the subject away from her.

She tries not to pout as he suggests a plethora of lessons and practice to learn to be palatable to the Norhian courts. Aunt Setsuna fared just fine as Hoshido’s queen without that kind of training.

“I would argue that the Nohrian court may benefit from some diversification of its members.” She reopens her eyes and shrugs. “If you are to benefit fully from the newfound alliance and peace between Nohr and Hoshido, what is there to gain from me learning to perform and behave the way a Nohrian princess would?” Not that she could trace any kind of commonality between what she saw of Lady Camilla and Lady Elise. “I am not Nohrian. I am barely even Hoshidan. Why insult the intelligence of the nobles who will dislike me regardless of what I do by the simple virtue of my father’s homeland by inviting them to pretend I think I could be one of them?”

And then there is the other subject. The wife subject. Mitama sighs and absently fixes her sleeve. “Siegbert did not mention it to you, did he? That he proposed.” She pauses long enough to realize the mistake and shake her head. “Well, not exactly that. His “proposal to propose at some time in the future”.” Dusk’s shadows it still sounds horrendous even after speaking about it to him.

“I said no, for the time being. In case you were uninformed. I told Siegbert I do not intend to wed any time soon.”

“It will never be about becoming ‘one of them,’ as you say. It will instead always be about what you can do for king and country. You’ll need to know how to handle the nobility if you wish to be of any help to Siegbert.”

It’s a lesson the queen will surely disagree with him on. But while they have innumerable points of contention between them, he adores her all the same, and it is both growth and wisdom to acknowledge that their conflicts often force him to question everything he has ever known to be true. And while his own stubbornness remains an obstacle, Xander appreciates her all the same; even having just one time where a forced re-evaluation has shed light and broadened his horizons is worth every argument and disagreement they’ve ever had, because it makes him better for it. It makes Nohr better.

It is why, for however many faults Mitama might have, her bluntness and her personality will never be what he criticizes. It will be good for Siegbert to have someone like her by his side, someone to remind him to look, occasionally, on the ground beneath his feet instead of solely the goal that lies ahead.

Xander’s just about to say as much when the news settles between them. Not a proposal, which would surely have warranted notice to his parents, but a proposal to propose. It’s difficult to say what’s worse—that Siegbert had, in true von Dragmire fashion, made quite a heavy misstep in his relationship, or that MItama has resolutely decided against marriage.

...Likely the former, though it’s perhaps because Xander can commiserate with him on that end.

“I was unaware,” Xander finally says. “Of your refusal, at least. There are many things I will gladly praise Siegbert for, but subtlety is hardly one of them. I’ve known he’s had it in his heart and mind to ask you for your hand.” Even if Siegbert himself did not say as much.

That’s his son, after all, and Xander has always cared enough to pay attention.

“As for your decision—if that was the reason behind your anxiety, be at ease. I’ve no mind to either force you to marry him or to end your relationship with him. You are young, as is he; there will be time yet to decide. But this does not change my prior point, Mitama; should there come a time when you choose to be his bride, then I trust you will be prudent enough to take the lessons I’ve mentioned. Otherwise, you needn’t concern yourself.”

[rexexemplar]

rest, dear atlas

princepsumbra​:

Nohr rarely sees the sun. Days are shrouded in endless twilight, an eternal reminder of the Dusk Dragon’s favor. Small wonder Xander’s birth felt like the sun itself breaking through the clouds. 

You can’t ignore the sun. A gravitational pull composed of never-ceasing light, a beacon meant to offer hope no matter how dark the world turns. Leo tries not envy his brother too much these days. In a country where an eclipse simply means burning more candles than usual, Leo found himself eclipsed by the blinding radiance of Nohr’s firstborn son. 

No one pays attention to the shadows. By the time they do, it’s too late. He long since decided it’s far more dangerous than simply going blind after staring at the sun. 

He really needs a lock for his office. Younger prince pauses in the doorway, grip tightening on the leather journal idly held in one hand. Xander appears well; no visible signs of distress color his perfect posture. 

Green eyes flick over to Siegbert’s painting. “It’s good to see you as well, Xander.” Leo fully steps into his office, door falling shut behind him. Measured steps carry him behind the desk Xander previously admired. Mage settles comfortably in his chair, placing the small journal next to his paper stack. 

“Finally following in my footsteps for once,” he says with a teasing edge to his tone. Dark satisfaction curls deep in his stomach. A tiny, petty thing from a tiny, petty brother. 

“Hah.” Amusement curls at the edges of his mouth when he turns to regard his brother, every bit as impressive as Xander has always known him to be. He looks comfortable here, as if this place well and truly has been accepted as his second home. And while that ought to worry him, it does not; Nohr will always have room in her heart for her second prince and guardian, quick-witted and powerful, a tempest coiled tightly and unleashed only when it must be.

“I would say that in certain things, I have always done best following you—even if you might not think so.”

In magic, certainly, but Leo already knows that. What Leo doesn’t know—or perhaps he does; perhaps he simply has trouble accepting it, so bound by his own visions of imperfection as he is—is that Xander greatly admires him for his flexibility. His ability to adapt to any circumstance, ever the faster thinker, one who has had to rely on more than immovable patriotism to to carve his path in life.

He reminds Xander a bit of Corrin, in this way. (Or, perhaps Corrin has always reminded him of Leo.) When faced with difficult choices, Xander picks one and does not allow himself to regret it. Leo, Corrin—even Elise and Camilla, in their own ways, dare to look back at the question and carve in a third option of their own choosing.

It’s admirable, and he loves the quality in each of his siblings, even when it has caused them to clash over it in the past.

“I hear your students are fond of you as well. They say you are a strict and unforgiving teacher, but a rewarding one nonetheless. Perhaps you’ve more of a penchant for teaching than you’d once thought.”

[rexexemplar]

so, what are your intentions?

verseandrhyme​:

He has a throne, even in his office. MItama thankfully manages to school her expression. Surely the intimidation tactic had to be intentional?

Still, Mitama takes her seat as indicated and does her best to follow his order. The phrasing does little to help, reminding her of battlefields and healing staves and blood between her fingers as she worked. 

This is a battlefield all its own, is it not? Despite whatever King Xander claims, it is best for her to be prepared.

“I look forward to the Queen’s own inspection.” Mitama replies evenly. She manages to meet his gaze and considers that a point in her favor. Best to ease close to a stronger opponent, not charge in recklessly. She cannot tell if that was meant as a joke. She finds it too risky to attempt to laugh and be wrong.

“With all due respect milord, I believe the reason he has not spoken to you regarding that conversation is simply because he has not.” She really wishes he had, if only to prepare for this. “For all the traits that shine in your son’s favor, he has always been more prone to romanticism. The poet is more practical than the prince in this pair, I am afraid.”

She adores him for it all the same. To be enamored with life itself so often was an admirable trait, in her opinion.

“That being said, I am no fool and can imagine what you are aiming towards.” Her hands sit in her lap and it is easy to link her fingers together to form something stable to hold on to. “The implication that the relationship between anyone and a prince is a test before anything else, to see how the intended fairs as a potential partner in ruling the kingdom.”

She is quiet for just a moment. She knows what is coming. Best to tear into it now than delay the inevitable.

“Personally, if I may speak with all candid honesty, I think your son has chosen a partner poorly from a purely practical standpoint.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Anyone would. Mitama is neither of royal nor noble blood; she’s the daughter of a monk, and politically, it matters very little that the aforementioned monk just so happens to be one of the queen’s retainers.

But Siegbert loves her. As a king, it means nothing; as a father, it is enough.

“Nohr already enjoys a steady alliance with Hoshido, and your family has already pledged and proven its loyalties to the Queen. Politically, militarily, and economically, there is nothing at all to gain from your union.” These are the facts. Disregarding Mitama’s earlier attempt to evade him—which really made her seem more akin to a terrified bird than aught else—it’s easy to see that she’s level-headed and practical. 

Here is what she is. Here is what Siegbert is. The nobles of Nohr would, without shame and hesitance, declare her a gold digger and an opportunist—and that’s if they decide to be nice.

“However.” Xander allows for a smile, albeit a small one. “You can learn to walk as a princess would. You can learn to talk as one, and behave as one, and think as one. Nohr will accept nothing less, and I would demand for as much out of any woman Siegbert decides to court. But my son did not choose ‘any woman,’ even when in the presence of royals and nobles from continents beyond our knowledge and imagination.”

There is a girl, father, Siegbert had written. Just the other day, we spent some time at the beach. She and I made quite a grand castle in the sand.

“...He chose you, Mitama Matsuo of Hoshido. And now, I will speak with candid honesty, as you have done for me. There will always be work to be done for the glory of Nohr, and it will never be easy. Siegbert will succeed on some days and fail on others; he will have days when he feels deserving of the crown atop his head, and days when he feels like he has failed. A wife he takes for the sake of securing a treaty, or silencing an opposing faction, or repaying a favor—that is not a wife who will know how to help him in those times.”

She’s a slight little thing, with delicate features and stars in her eyes.

“A wife he takes because he is fond of her, however...” 

I think...

“A wife who can knows what he is like and can make up for all his flaws.”

...No, I know.

“A wife who accepts him and accentuates his strengths.”

I’m in love with her, father.

“That is more than simply a wife of his choosing. That is the woman who will rule Nohr beside him.”

[rexexemplar]

asterism

perfectionist-prince​:

So he had written. Siegbert straightens out, a slow breath; there were a series of letters unopened on his desk that he had yet to so much as glance at, having only been home a matter of days since their mission. He was pushing away responsibility—but he believed he deserved that much after all that he and the other students had gone through.

“I am not… upset,” he says after a moment, collecting himself. Tears blinked away; he could not allow himself to cry. Not when he has spent so long crying already in recent weeks.

“I have been unable to report to you. This past month—”

He cuts himself off. Eyes squeeze shut, another deep breath.

“It’s been hell, father.” Even the most stoic of man would understand exactly why his voice cracks on the phrase. “I feel as though we’ve gone to war again in the time span of a month—except this time, I was weak.”

(Patty and Nina, dead at his feet.)

“No amount of progress can forgive the sin of allowing my allies to fall, father. It has haunted me since the day it happened—among other things.” Finally, he looks back to the king.

“I am sorry to disappoint you when I say the progress you expect cannot be seen today.”

This, he’s learned, is the unique struggle of a parent. 

As a father, he wants only the best for his son; he wants Siegbert to succeed, to be happy, and to never know a day of adversity in his life. But also as a father, he wants Siegbert to learn. He wants Siegbert to grow. He wants Siegbert to understand what it truly means not only to live as an adult in this world, but what it means to be a leader and a king, the kind worthy enough to lead Nohr into ever-greater heights.

Death, whether enacted by his hand or witnessed before his very eyes, is an inevitable part of that journey. There is a time to fight and a time to yield; a time to push forward and a time to grieve. But being strong does not mean he’ll ever save everyone he wants to save, and being king does not mean nothing will remain beyond his grasp.

Futility is, perhaps, the harshest teacher of all.

“So you learned that you cannot save everyone,” Xander replies. The hand he places on Siegbert’s shoulder is heavy, but warm. “You learned that some are slower than others. Weaker. You learned that others are stronger and wiser and faster than you’ll ever be, but they will bleed and fall all the same.”

He gives a gentle squeeze and bids his son to look up.

“You’ve learned grief, and you’ll learn to mourn. You’ll learn regret. But you will also learn what to do after it’s all said and done.” Xander lets his hand fall so he can take hold of Siegbert’s. He readjusts his son’s grip on his training sword. “Sometimes, you will realize you could have done something differently, and you’ll train diligently so that you never make the same mistake again. Other times, you will realize that nothing you could ever do, not in this lifetime or in the next twenty, would have changed a thing.”

Satisfied, Xander steps back. “...All of that is progress, Siegbert.”

[rexexemplar]

at sunset

noblebutcher​:

His approval is all it takes for Peri to run up to the booth with a smile, taking the bow in her hand. Peri was no archer, but even she knew a good bow from a bad one. Clearly it was made so that they’d lose– but she was no loser! And she would rather kill everyone here than embarrass herself in front of Xander.

“Peri has coins too, Lord Xander!” She puffs out her cheeks, digging into her own pockets and pulling out a coin. “This’ll be for your turn!” It wasn’t a choice he had– he was playing too.

The arrow is neatly placed in the nocking point, pulling on the bowstring and lining up the bow with the target. Striking was something Peri did on a whim, throwing caution to the wind and trusting in her natural killer instinct.

She lets go of the bowstring and it nearly snaps from the force. Even a pitiful arrow was a deadly weapon in Peri’s hands. It lands nearly perfectly in the centre- not quite a bullseye, but close enough to earn a surprised stare from the booth’s attendant. “Yay! Look, Xandie! Peri did it!”

Without waiting for him to react, Peri points at one of the larger stuffed animals: a golden lion. “He looks just like Lord Xander, don’t you think?” Once it’s in her hands she turns to Xander, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s for you! But Peri will hold it so you can play!”

“Ah.”

He isn’t surprised as much as he is proud. Though the game looked rigged from the beginning, with a toy bow that wasn’t likely to shoot far and a toy arrow with a tip so smoothed he’d be surprised if it could pop a balloon, Peri had managed not only to make a shot, but to strike nearly dead center. This is one of his retainers: capable, talented, and worth infinitely more than she realizes. No matter where either of them go, they will live, and they will thrive.

It’s what comforts him, even in Laslow’s absence. Wherever he is, in whatever land he’d spoken so mysteriously about—Xander knows that he’s doing well. It’s the most he’ll ever ask of Peri and Laslow both.

“...Thank you, Peri.” he says. His expression softens into a smile. There’s little point in insisting that she keep it; he understands the joys of giving a gift, especially when it has been rightfully earned. “I suppose it is only right that I return the favor, then.”

The attendant presses the bow and arrow into his hands. It’s comically small; Xander already knows he’ll snap the toy in half if he were to draw the string back to the full stretch of his shoulders. Still, he can’t let that be an excuse not to try. If one has received a gift, it’s only common courtesy to offer something in return.

So, Xander aims. He recalls Peri doing it. Whether she knew it or not, and whether it was intentional or not, there was clearly something she did right. Xander does his best to imitate her, and fires—just to have the arrow land right where Peri’s did, the plastic shafts clacking against one another upon impact.

“Hm.”

Not perfect. Not dead center. But it’s enough to get a prize, and isn’t that what matters?

“You may choose which doll you’d like, Peri. It is, after all, for you.”

[rexexemplar]

so, what are your intentions?

verseandrhyme​:

Her smile wilts, but she catches herself before it can develop into a pout. “Very well.” Her hope flies as her heart sinks and she knows the battle is lost without any need for negotiation. In truth, even if he did contradict her expectations and reprimand her publicly for aiming above her station, she would have preferred that. Nohr’s assassinations, from what she had been told in the past, were efficient but never a spectacle.

Like a prisoner to death row, she steps out of the bookshelves when indicated, at least marching with her head held high. Father had a spine of steel, always ready to dig under the skin of those around him without any fear. Mitama may have faltered, but she can at least attempt to muster the composure he left for her.

It was the only thing he left her, after all.

“I have my suspicions, but I am sure that like Siegbert himself often does, you will manage to surprise me.” Ah, should she have used his title? She frowns. Her own prince never does, and using Siegbert’s had always been a fleeting jest at best. To use it feels more dishonest than to not to. But he had probably wanted her to. An excellent track record she was making for herself in this single conversation.

“The length matters little in face of the contents. I have no obligations at this time, so it is for the best to go over what concerns you may have.” Whether she survived them was another story.

The office doors are much the same, and Mitama does not venture here often enough to know which belongs to who. She pauses and patiently waits for Xander to lead her into her cell. “Was your journey to Fodlan nice, by the by?” She asks as she waits. “I have heard mixed responses from those who have trickled in.”

“There were no shortage of bandits, but they were easily dispatched,” Xander replies, holding a door open. He closes it once they’re both inside the sparsely-furnished office. “Have a seat.”

There are two plush chairs in front of the desk; behind it, a much larger one with a high back, clearly meant for the king. Books line the shelves without a speck of dust to be seen; by row, they’re separated by origin and organized by alphabet, boasting titles from the far western coast of the Adrestian Empire to the furthest eastern reaches of the Alliance. There are clearly lessons for him to learn, too; though war is a constant no matter which continent they occupy, the methods and tactics of each land is different.

Xander will have plenty of time to look through them later. For now, he keeps his attention on the pink-haired woman in his office, her shoulders squared and her posture stiff. The poor girl looks like she’s steps away from facing a guillotine.

“...At ease,” Xander tries again. His tone comes a touch gentler when he takes his seat and gestures for her to do the same. “I don’t intend for this to be an interrogation of any sort, Mitama. Siegbert has made his affections for you abundantly clear, and I would prefer to leave it to the queen to judge matters of the heart. If she is to be believed, she’s much better at it than I am.”

It’s... a joke. Or at least, half of one. He isn’t sure if it does much in helping her relax.

“That being said, your relationship with my son is a matter I find myself needing to discuss with you.” He folds his hands over the desk. She looks impossibly small. “...He’s made no mention to me of speaking with you about what it might entail, and I would rather not make any assumptions of what you do and do not know.”

[rexexemplar]

at sunset

noblebutcher​:

If she could smile any wider she would. She watches as he eats it, putting a piece of her own on her tongue. It looked and felt like a cloud, but it was melting in her mouth! “Woooow! It’s tasty! Heehee!” She doesn’t bother asking Xander if he liked it or not– of course he did! It looked like her, so what was there to hate?

Her eyes widen in wonder, completely fixated on her Lord. Sometimes she wonders where she would be without him. She owed him her life and her loyalty…and yet she tried to leave. It wasn’t her fault! After hearing all those nasty things people were saying, she truly thought this was for the best.

‘He followed me.’ It made her happy– happier than she’s ever been. Even killing an entire battlefield didn’t make her this happy! This was why she promised her life to him. The smallest threat to her Xandie would end in bloodshed.

“Okay! Peri wants to play some games with Lord Xandie!” She claps her hands together, making sure to not squish her cotton candy. “Look– oh, it’s so cute!” Peri wastes no time grabbing her Lords hand and pulling him towards a stall lined with plush toys and targets. “Peri wants to play this one!”

“Then you may.” Many of the toys are reasonably sized; the ones hung above them, lining the top of the stall, are monstrous. Xander is no stranger to seeing a plush toy or two, especially in Elise’s room, but these are... impressively sized. Some are rounder than others; he doubts he’d even be able to see Peri’s face behind it were she to hold one.

“Fancy a game, lass?” the attendant asks. He holds out a toy bow and arrow; just from the looks of it, Xander doubts that it’ll shoot very far at all. The bow’s string lacks the appropriate tension; the arrow’s tip is too dull. Even the curvature of the toy weapon itself isn’t conducive to its purpose! 

Xander frowns, eyes turning to the other bows and arrows in the attendant’s possession. All of them seem to be similarly ill-suited for a proper shot.

“All it takes is one arrow,” the attendant wheedles. “Then you get a doll of your choice. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re dying to try!”

A glance down at Peri only affirms it. How can he deny her such a simple pleasure?

“...Go ahead, Peri,” Xander says, pressing a coin into the attendant’s palm. With a grin, the attendant pockets it and hands over the toy bow and arrow to her, whooping an announcement.

“Alright, little lady; remember, one shot is all it takes! One shot!”

[rexexemplar]

asterism

perfectionist-prince​:

For as long as he could remember, routine was drilled into his mind. In his deeprealm, it was the same thing day in and day out. During the war, it was the same thing day in and day out. Afterwards, even amidst the chaos of rebuilding and correcting relationships across three entire countries, it was, at its core, the same thing day in and day out. The monastery was no different.

Even the ever-looming threats on his life were the same. There were simply some things that never changed.

He follows through with the blow, wooden sword striking training dummy with a loud-enough crack that it would have hurt more sensitive ears. Prince straightens with a slow exhale, shifting as though to strike again, when a voice interrupts his train of thought.

“It’s different from my normal technique. I had grown too used to wielding a broadsword on horseback, so learning to steady myself with a single-handed blade again has been—”

The sentence cuts short. Carmine gaze widens. Siegbert spins on his heel to face the newcomer.

The training sword clatters to the floor.

“… Father?”

He doesn’t realize there are tears in his eyes until salt stings at his lips, mixing with the sweat already beading on his face.

“W-what are you— how—?”

It was already hard enough to pretend everything was normal after the events of their latest mission. Now, coming face-to-face with the man he was most afraid to approach and admit his failures to…

Siegbert’s bottom lip quivers. Are you here to admonish me, father? I’m sorry.

“I sent a letter ahead of my departure,” Xander explains, “but by the time I was told that a storm had delayed the messenger, I was already a day’s worth of travel from Garreg Mach.”

There’s more to say, of course, but Xander cuts himself short. Rather than look overjoyed, Siegbert looks like he’s a breath away from crying. Why? 

(—no; it’s a foolish question, and he knows it. No matter how his son tries to bridge the gap between them, they have and always will be different people. They may be of the same blood; they may wear the same crown; they may even wield the same sword. But at the end of the day, Siegbert is his own man, with his own strengths and weaknesses, his fears and his truths. Xander has never dreamt of taking that from him.)

“...But you’re upset,” Xander says. It is neither a question nor an admonishment as much as it is a segue into what he wishes to address. “As much as I would like to hope it isn’t because of my impromptu arrival here, I know you’ve always struggled with a misplaced burden to measure yourself against me. I only regret this wasn’t something I caught and addressed earlier.”

Because it isn’t going to be easy. Siegbert has many years until he will be king, and the road till be wrought with difficulties and pressures beyond his wildest dreams. Xander understands because he walks that very path even now. The crown is both an honor and a burden, a symbol of power and of servitude. 

But if there is anyone who can follow in his footsteps; if there is anyone who can not only walk the same path, but lay down his own footsteps beside Xander’s; if there is anyone who can grow to be worthy of the Nohrian crown—it is Siegbert von Dragmire.

“I’ve read the reports sent to me of your progress, Siegbert. No matter your feelings of failure, you are making progress—and I look forward to seeing it for myself.”

[rexexemplar]

so, what are your intentions?

verseandrhyme​:

@rexexemplar | cont

She is a coward. She is weak. She is incredibly stupid and an overall fool.

Mitama scowls to herself as she surveys the text of the book she had snatched in an effort to look very preoccupied and not like someone who had just sprinted into the library with hell on her heels. Because she was not hiding. No. Absolutely not. She had nothing to hide from.

She had simply…was simply…Lord Xander was a very intimidating man.

Mitama was not one to shake or quell under the eyes of any authority, but come on. The only times she had seen the King in person was on the battlefield, cutting down everything in his path and barking out orders to all nearby. It is not an easy image to simply overcome! And certain not when paired with the stories that her caretakers had told her of Nohr and Hoshido’s shared history growing up.

Worst of all, she had mistaken him for Siegbert. As if that was not embarrassing enough, she displayed herself as a fool who could not even recognize Siegbert from another, how was she-

She squeaks at the sound of his voice. (Hide and already / the seeking has completed? / Count slower next time.) Mitama hesitantly looks up to meet his gaze.

Still stoic. Still intimidating. She clears her throat. “Lord Xander, hello.”

Mitama laughs sheepishly. (He has written about her? Wonderful. With Siegbert’s penchant for romanticism, she can imagine all the flattery she has to climb up to meet now.) “If it is all the same to you, Milord, I would far prefer a publicly private conversation.”

She closes the book all the same. It is clear her flight ends here. It is slid back into its place as next she speaks. “The gardens outside the grounds make a lovely place for a private encounter, without sacrificing how lovely it is outside.” And, ideally, one would come running to her aid should she let out her final scream.

"A publicly private conversation,” he echoes, sounding entirely unimpressed by the idea of it. “While I won’t disagree that the gardens here are lovely, this is a conversation I would like to have with you in private—more for your sake than for mine. Come.”

He doesn’t intend to chastise her; she’s still young, after all, and understandably never received even a second of royal education. She doesn’t know how to behave as a princess might, much less a queen. 

She will learn.

“My office is nearby,” Xander says, and gestures for her to step out from her place against the shelves. “I won’t keep you long, if that is your concern, nor do I intend to lecture you. But I’ve been told that you’re an exceptionally bright young woman; I don’t doubt you know what it is that I wish to speak to you about, and why it is that I don’t want for any prying ears.”

It won’t be an easy conversation. It won’t be comfortable. In fact, he anticipates that some of what he says might even offend her, though not out of any ill will. But when she accepted Siegbert’s offer of courtship, she had to have known what she was signing herself up for; a prince, specifically one who is set to inherit the throne, will never have the luxury of pursuing romantic interests for fun. Siegbert knows this. Mitama, he hopes, does too.

[rexexemplar]

“Siegbert, have you-”

Mitama’s words end trapped inside her throat as quickly as they started. Her silence is only punctuated by the literal shattering of silence. The cup she had held slipped from her grip.

“Lord Xander.” Her voice comes out in a squeak as her mind panics and races. He was here? In Fodlan? Since when? Oh this was bad, this was very bad. “My apologies.”

Meeting Siegbert’s uncle was one thing. The younger prince of Nohr could at least be appeased with competent enough magical discussion. She was not ready to meet Siegbert’s actual father as his current girlfriend.

“I should be going!” She blurts out. The teacup is still shattered on the floor. She will have to apologize to whoever cleans that later. “Pardon the intrusion have a nice day farewell.”

The shrine maiden rushes away before the king has a chance to stop her.

He expects her to be nervous. She is, after all, being courted by the crown prince of Nohr; it goes without saying that they would have to meet eventually, and Xander has been told on every possible occasion that he cuts an imposing and intimidating figure. It would have been stranger if she wasn't nervous.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for her nerves to rattle her to the point of shattering glass—quite literally. Xander is on his feet even before the teacup hits the ground, but she’s gone even before he can ask after her wellbeing. It’s not at all the first impression he’d thought he’d get; Siegbert’s letters had been full of nothing but fondness for the young woman, lavishing her with every measure of praise known to man.

She is brave. She is strong. She is smart, and beautiful, and devastatingly witty.

Father, Siegbert had written, I'm in love with her.

Thus, perhaps unfairly, Xander had begun curating a specific image of one Mitama Matsuo of Hoshido in his mind's eye. Someone beautiful, someone elegant, someone headstrong. Someone patient. Someone with a vision. Someone, if Siegbert's letters were at all to be believed, who would do well when she one day become Nohr's queen.

It presents a problem, then, when she runs—not because it makes her any less worthy, but because it does not give him adequate time (or time at all, really) to even get a good look at her.

Xander frowns. With a heavy boot, he steps over the shattered glass to look for her, unwilling to let the opportunity slip between his fingers. He'd told his son that he looked forward to meeting the woman of his dreams, and Xander has never been a man to go back on his word.

It's admittedly harder than he anticipates, but ultimately, he does find her in the library, hiding a shelf of books. Surely, she wouldn't run a second time.

"Of all the praises Siegbert has sung of you, he's neglected to mention how quick you were on your feet," he says. "Mitama Matsuo of Hoshido—I'd like a word. In private."

Refusal will never be an answer.

[rexexemplar]

at sunset

noblebutcher​:

There’s a tight feeling in her chest when Xander speaks again. It’s something she doesn’t entirely recognize, but it brings her back to that day when she saw it all happen– it reminds her of the look in the eyes of her enemies.

Fear.

Peri trusts him with all of her heart, but even his smile couldn’t calm the rapid beating in her chest. She knew he wouldn’t do anything to her, he was never the type of man to do anything so cruel, and yet she feared something worse than pain: disappointment. It was one of the reasons she left in the first place, after all. 

“…Huh? You’re not mad at Peri?” She looks up at him with her wide eye(s), shining like jewels with her tears. “I– I know…Peri should’ve told you– but you would’ve told me not to go! And Peri had to!” She stomps her foot, looking about ready to throw a tantrum. “S-she doesn’t want anyone talking bad about Lord Xander!”

Butcher, killer, murderer– it wasn’t fair! They say he houses a criminal, that the Crown Prince hires her to take out all he oppose him, but that wasn’t it at all! She protected him! He never made her do anything. “Peri loves being your retainer! But hearing people talk all mean about you– oh, it makes me want to kill them all!” People were watching– they heard her say she wanted to kill people–

“…You…you don’t…?” She tries her hardest to calm herself, gripping tightly on the fabric of her skirt. “…Peri would…like that a lot, Lord Xandie!” And in a matter of seconds she’s smiling once again, holding his hand and pulling him to the stall. “I want this one, and this one, and– oh! Look at this! It’s so fluffy!” Some strange cloud looking candy was in her hand, pink and blue. “It looks just like Peri’s hair, heehee! Here,” she rips off a piece and gets on the tip of her toes, stretching to feed him, “you have a piece too!”

How could he deny her? Peri’s excitement and energy are contagious; her fondness for the sweets provided touch the appetites of those around her, and soon they are approaching to take a closer look at the treats, no longer so intimidated by a girl who would speak so easily and openly of murder. He’d happily pay double the price for the smile it brings to her face.

“It does look like your hair,” Xander agrees, and takes the cotton candy—just colored, spun sugar, it seems—between his fingers. “Thank you, Peri.” It’s fluffy and wispy at first, though a curious press leaves it compact and sticky. Clearly, it’s a treat to be enjoyed by children, though he can already imagine the chagrined looks of parents when they realize everything those sticky little fingers would touch.

“...Hm.” Certainly nothing like what he’s eaten in the past... though he’s also certain that Windmire hasn’t seen a carnival even in the years before he was born.

It’s just as sweet as he expects when he gives it a taste; it really is just sugar, though he isn’t entirely sure if the hint of something else he tastes—artificial blueberry? Strawberry?—is actually there or simply implied by the colors.

"We can return later, if you’d like.” It won’t be doing Peri’s appetite any favors, but he’s not opposed to indulging one of his beloved retainers—especially because she came here, to a land far away from home, to better herself for his sake. “Let us walk around and see what else this carnival has to offer. If I’ve been informed correctly, there are games to be played for prizes and performances to watch as well.”

[rexexemplar]

and the sun smiled with her.

princessmacedon​:

Perhaps the best thing to happen to Maria since the (re)starting of the year was the slow onset of spring. Garreg Mach itself was an old beast with bones of sun-bleached stone, frigid and formidable and only ever painted paler in the winter snow. And yet– and yet!

And yet it looked so alive beneath the gentle blush of new life, so much warmer with so little a difference in decorative hue– and still with more time to wake, for the tentative to bloom into vibrancy! So it had come for nearly a thousand years, and so she hoped it would continue a thousand more. She, however, would only be here for one– or close to it, at least, the difference meaningless enough that the answer did not change. 

So it was that the little princess sat beneath the afternoon sun, gentle fingertips running over gentler petals as she sought one– just one!– flower to be plucked. 

One she did find, a pink-petaled thing on the other side, to be tucked between the pages of a well-loved journal for a more distant, more beautiful spring. (Would he like it, she wondered, gaze sweeping over the rest of the modest life around her. Minerva surely would! Another flower then, and she giggled as she turned, only to find a stranger standing in her path. Her name was upon his lips, and a smile soon upon hers, bright and curious as she wondered just who had bothered to find the most insignificant bearer of a forgotten crown.

“Oh!” Maria all but melted as she accepted her journal’s return, graceful in her taking but no less eager for it. Hugged tight against her chest, all but vanished beneath a mop of crimson hair, it was easy to see how time had taken its toll. “Oh, thank you so much, Mister! I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost it…” Her fingers tightened around its edges. After a moment, she exhaled, then peered up to him a second time, no less curious than the first. A question clearly settled there, but she curtsied (as well as she could with arms full of treasure) instead. And then– “You said I can… rebind it? Really?” Her eyes were shining now, round and bright. “Really truly?”

“Really truly,” he echoes, feeling the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 

It’s strange to be called Mister when he’s been called Your Highness all his life; stranger, still, to walk around without the weight and pressure of a crown around his head. Here, he is neither king nor solder; here, he is a simple professor, come to learn as much as he has to teach. And while he can’t afford a moment of complacency, he can do this: help a little princess rebind a treasured book, whose pages are worn and its strings whittled thin because she has spent hours upon hours lavishing it with her love and attention.

“Come; I should have everything I need to help you in my office.” The Church had been gracious enough to furnish him with his every need; apart from a few paltry and personal comforts, Xander had found that he didn’t have to send for much at all to be brought here from his home. 

He could see why Leo insisted on remaining—even if there would always be a place for him back in Castle Krakenburg.

“Some of my siblings used to keep journals when they were younger,” Xander explains, leading the way. His steps are slower; one stride from him would require two from the princess, and he has no desire to leave her trailing behind him. “And one of them was endlessly fond of books. I felt it worthwhile to spend a few hours learning how to rebind books myself than to search for and drag in a librarian to do the work.”

[rexexemplar]

at sunset

noblebutcher​:

Fódlan had its ups and downs, but Peri was overall happy about the change in scenery. Even if there were things back at Nohr that she missed, this was good for her! She hadn’t killed anyone yet (a new record!) and was slowly able to quell the feeling of wanting to stab someone. Not completely fixed, but it was a start!

One of the things she loved the most about Fódlan were all of the activities that seemed to take place. A carnival meant she could eat as many sweets as she wanted and play games until she dropped. It reminded her of the Hoshidan festivals she’s heard about— maybe when she went back home, new and improved, she could go to one!

She had been skipping along the path, looking from stall to stall, when she heard someone say her name. A voice she knew all too well— but he wasn’t here. She must have missed him so much that she was imagining his voice! Once she turned around she would see that no one was there, and it was aaaall in her imagination—

“Heehee, see, no one th— LORD XANDER!?”

No, that couldn’t really be him! He had to be back in Nohr! This was all just in her imagination, and when she opened her eyes (when did she even close them?) he would be gone!

…And when she opened her eyes…he was still there.

“You’re— Peri didn’t think she’d see you so soon!”

She speaks loud enough to draw the attention of every passerby, but Xander can’t find himself to mind. He’s always found her exuberance charming, and what better place to enjoy a bit of excitement than a lively carnival with all its colorful lights and cheerful sounds? 

“You’d have seen me much sooner if you’d just told me where you intended to go, Peri,” Xander answers, though not unkindly. He approaches her with a smile; to their left, a shopkeeper begins ringing his bell again, trying to attract attention to the variety of sweets and treats that he has available for sale. Even from where he stands, Xander can smell the apples coated in sugar and caramel. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be the best to discuss this here and now, but Xander doesn’t enjoy delaying the inevitable. If there is something to be discussed, he will discuss it; if there is something to be handled, he will handle it. It’s rare that he thinks there is anything to gain by sitting on his hands.

“Of course, I would have much preferred it if you did not leave at all without speaking to me directly. I could have told you myself that I care little for what people say of me for having you as my retainer.” 

They call her a butcher. Some say it’s fitting for him to have her as one of his own. They aren’t wrong, but not for the reason that they think.

“There has not been a single day where I’ve regretted choosing you. You have done for me more than I could have asked for—you and Laslow both. Now.” He turns to the stall of sweets. Next to the apples are a colorful display of candies, some of them looking almost as big as his entire hand if he were to stretch out his fingers. “This is hardly an apt reward for your service, but it is a start. Take your pick.”

[rexexemplar]

asterism

Siegbert is not difficult to find once classes adjourn; he’s a boy of routines, a spitting image of his father even if he might think himself lacking. Following his afternoon lessons, he’ll be training. After training, he’ll enjoy a brief respite with a snack or two before he sits down to focus on his homework. Xander knows this as well as he knows the order of the seasons.

This is his son, the brightest asterism in Nohr’s skies. In time, he will learn; in time, he will grow. And in time, he will inherit blade and crown, steel and gold—and he will realize that he was a constellation all along, a shape of his own making, perhaps not perfect but whole nonetheless. 

Xander is proud of him, even if he does not say so as often as he feels it.

“Your form has improved, Siegbert,” he notes, speaking through the harsh crack of a training sword bearing down on a worn training dummy. “You’re steadier on your feet—though perhaps by too much. You’ll find it difficult to catch an attack from behind if you were to be so assaulted.”

But it’s an improvement, still. Siegbert always improves, sometimes by miles, sometimes by inches. 

It’s good to see him grow.

@perfectionist-prince

[rexexemplar]

rest, dear atlas

Leo’s office is everything he expects it to be: neat and organized, with nary a thing out of place. There’s a stack of papers, every sheaf tucked in as if bound by an unseen string; a curious glance reveals them to be lesson plans. Leo has always made sure to have more than one quill and one inkpot at his desk—a sure sign of his diligence and preparedness, brought with him to a land removed far, far from home.

Xander sets a hand on the desk. It’s good wood, aged and thick; there isn’t a speck of dust to be found as he taps his fingers once. The sound he is rewarded with is satisfying.

He’s just about set his eyes on the painting to the left—Siegbert’s work, he realizes, because he would recognize his son’s brushstrokes even in his sleep; the hues that he favors, his highlights and his shadows, all of it carrying the intricacies of his preferences—when the door opens.

Leo looks well. Xander must admit that, among a litany of other confessions yet to be made, he’s missed his brother’s presence in court.

“Siegbert did mention you’d settled well here,” Xander greets, the stern lines of his expression softening into something more familiar. “But it’s good to see it for myself.”

@princepsumbra

[rexexemplar]

and the sun smiled with her.

It takes him two days to memorize the list of students in each house; half of the next to associate country and title. It’s how he learns that there is a man that the people of his home call the Hero King, oft followed—but rarely noticed—by his shadow and his knife. It paints a peculiar picture of the land they hail from, and Xander makes no secret of his desire to speak to this king so that he might learn more of what ought to come once the dust of conquest has settled.

But before kings and their retainers, before conversations of futures and wars, he meets a girl.

(And in time, he will remember this: that every man who has earned his greatness in blood has knelt by the feet of someone else, made to bow by the weight of their crowns. Even birds, as they say, must rest their feet.)

“Princess Maria of Macedon,” he recalls. Archanea. Blue Lions. Cleric. 

Her smile is more charming—more disarming—than he expects. It’s inevitable to see a vision of his own little sister in the twinkle of Maria’s eyes.

“I believe this is yours,” Xander says, and holds out a worn book. It looks like it might last one more read from cover to cover before the bindings finally fail to hold the pages together. “It would hardly take any time or effort to have it rebound. I suggest you do, if its contents are of any import at all.”

@princessmacedon

[rexexemplar]

at sunset

mission: anniversary 2021; bow +1

She’s here.

The letter she’d left behind is in his room, neatly folded without a single wrinkle otherwise marring the paper. Lord Xander, it’d begun, looped in her messy, childish script—and that’s how he knew that it was to tell him nothing good. She was to leave. It’d been difficult enough to deal with the whispers of the army when they were at war, chastising her for the open way she spoke to and of him. It’s undoubtedly worse in Nohr, where the aristocracy are harsher in their judgments. 

Xander was upset, of course, but not with her. How could he be, when the fault was so clearly his own? Peri is his retainer; his responsibility. He should have known she was distressed and addressed the matter immediately, rather than letting her think she needed to improve herself to meet some criteria he never did and never intended to impose on her.

He’d had his men search through Nohr, sifting through the kingdom with a fine-toothed comb. Now, he knows why she’d been impossible to find.

“Peri.”

She looks well. Healthy, with color in her cheeks, a bounce to her step. Alive.

That’s good.

@noblebutcher