themselves — go out. none may teach it, as a spider, sewing at night, himself without a light. their wicks, an arc of white, across each age a lens, within cathedral hymns. and when they come, the landscape l i s t e n s. shadows hold their breath. when they go, 'tis like the distance on the immortal look of death.
lucius . fe7
clergy / part-time faculty at the officers academy
✧
titanium was only an appropriate substitute for silver when clasped in the palm of a damned believer. like it always has, it burns — a subtle numbing heat that nibbles at his skin and will blister if he keeps his hand there too long. so he mumbles the prayer under his breath quickly and lets go of the cross about his neck. even just a halfway facsimile, unblessed with holy water, still has its effects on him. what he wouldn’t give to carry a real one like the other priests, but then he would likely be nothing but ash before the hour.
anxiety marks the quiet steps with which he leaves the fringes of the city behind. the dirty yellow glow of the streetlamp succumbs to the shadows of the trees within three strides, and he can open his eyes wider now to let the nightscape in. a groundhog darts through the underbrush out of his way, startled to find a trespasser in the forests at this hour; he looks kindly after the hollow of its burrow in apology, then deeper into the woods with a tight-lipped expression, where the worn paths made by those who enjoy the occasional nature walk narrow, fade, and then are overtaken by untrod wilderness.
somewhere out in that wilderness is where he’s been asked to investigate.
the feud between the church and the werewolves is longstanding and no secret. at least, not to the parties involved. for nearly five decades, the truce put down between his former excellency the hierophant and the leader of the werewolves has allowed a tenuous peace to settle over the area — or so he understands. and now, after nearly half a century of silence, the discovery of human remains, evidence of an undisputed werewolf attack on the mauled body, in a copse of trees some short miles from the city border, presents a clear challenge to both that peace and the illusion of normalcy the people of the city live under.
he’s not certain what they hope for him to find there, since the body has already been recollected. he’s even less certain what they hope for him to do if he should find anything. his peculiar allergy to sunlight, they said, made him a unique and invaluable asset for getting to the bottom of this act of aggression. the wolves would not be expecting any movement from them by night, so he was more likely to go unnoticed.
there was no excuse for him to refuse. and if his... circumstances made him an asset, rather than set him apart as it has for so many years, then he would do what was in his power.
darkness is no haunting obstacle for him as for others; he sees just fine. but, as he picks his way further and further into the undergrowth, over roots and brush and fallen trunks, and the familiarity of cracked pavement and skyscraping buildings grows more and more distant, he can’t help but feel that there is something dark and deep about these woods, regardless.
𝐎𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝?! 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 little merchant has her bright blue eyes wide and glimmering with excitement ( and trouble ). He gets down on one knee, ready to lift the other man onto his back so they may both scale the tree. In the end, no matter how much this may cause his cheeks to flush, it may be in his best interest to see it up the the tree safely.
You go first… I’ll follow…
The speed at which he stands back up and turns around could have made him topple over. It seems Lucius’ suggestion surprised more than just him as the merchant had no problem in displaying her disappointment visibly on her face. Raven wasn’t the strongest, but he had enough in him to climb the tree, even with someone else at his side, his retainer on the other hand was built like a wet noodle, for lack of better words.
He opens his mouth to protest, but no sound comes out. Was he judging too harshly? Had Lucius had some secret training regimen he didn’t know about? A thought crosses his mind—he was a grown man who could make his own decisions as much as Raven could. Raven’s jaw clenches slightly as he looks up at the tree then back to the blond. Though, maybe it would be better for Lucius to go first so that he may assist where he could.
…On the other hand, was one more preferable to the other? He didn’t need to have his hand on his a—
“Alright,” he finally responds, not giving it another thought. Raven grabs a hold of on one of the tree’s limbs with a small grunt and is able to pull himself up onto it. Satin ribbons slick his footing, but he is able to, with cautious movements, move onto another adjacent branch and looks down in case he needed to lend his hand.
had raymond meant to... carry him? fortunately for the redhead’s pride, he’s already turned back to the tree by the time the subtlest amusement crinkles the corners of his retainer’s eyes, touched with a glimmer of warmth. the thought is a kind one, but this tree doesn’t look so difficult, and even he isn’t keen to be seen carried within view of so many others. something about his lord seems off, though, as sky blues trail the beginnings of his ascent — in his movements and the way his words have been coming out of him. he’s always embarrassed easily, though, and this place can’t be the most comfortable for someone more at home in rust and friction. or so raven likes to think; lucius has always felt that the man hasn’t changed so much as he’s determined to believe. his thoughts drift back to the shade-dappled bench and the playing of soft light across raymond’s features, the breeze sifting his hair. no, this couldn’t still be about the disagreement earlier.
with ample space for a second person now, lucius clears the reverie from his mind and steps forward. as promised, he follows in raven’s path, hands and feet fitting as by faith into the same holds seconds ago left in the other’s wake. he makes sure to test each one before moving, lest satin slide precariously beneath his grip. the thought occurs to him absently that it seems cruel to tread upon the penned dreams of others; where he can manage, he aims for thin strips of bare tree bark instead.
fortunately, the tree spans breadth farther than height, and he answers raven’s backwards glance with a headshake and small smile. your lead is enough, it seems to say.
soon enough, sunlight infiltrating the thinning foliage to curtain his vision indicates that they’ve reached as high as they’re going to be able to go. ❝ how about around here? ❞ he calls up, glancing over the slender boughs stretching far on both sides. their lichen-spotted limbs still flutter with the occasional tail of pink, indicating the two of them hadn’t been the first intrepid visitors with this idea, but there was no shortage of space to choose from. arms bracing with the tension of keeping himself in place, he shuffles laterally along the branches towards a juncture that looks stout enough to support his weight.
[ ... ] “Oh… My apologies! I didn’t realize the tree was this full! If only there was a way to get up there…” She looks to Raven, expectantly. “I’ll be down here in case anyone falls~ For safety measures of course.”
“I… suppose I could climb up there, but Lucius, maybe you should stay here to avoid injury.”
If either were to look at the merchant, her cheeks had puffed up in a pout. If she could call them idiots, she probably would. Pushing it a step further, she adds, “Oh, but you should tie your own ribbon! It’ll ruin the meaning otherwise! Surely you could find a way to get both of you up there. Besides, you wouldn’t want to miss the view from up there!”
Was she really suggesting—? His face turns redder than his hair and he’s speechless. This was definitely one of her ploys, none of this tradition or whatever she wanted to sell it off as! When he wrote what he did, he didn’t entirely mean it in a literal sense.
Though, he couldn’t deny the gesture as much as he wanted to. Much to his chagrin ( and her delight ), he complies, managing to mutter a response just audible enough for both to hear. “…If you aren’t adverse to it, then I could manage to get us both up there.”
he thinks little of it. in fact, with his attention on the tree and on raven, he misses the conspiratorial glimmer in the girl’s eye entirely; by word alone, her suggestion is innocuous enough. it makes sense, he thinks — tying the ribbon to the bough with one’s own hands is a way of securing one’s hopes, a steadfast prayer to the heavens. and the view from higher up was likely to be wonderful.
hm? why does raven look so flushed?
❝ ... i would not mind, ❞ he acquiesces easily. whichever the other deemed most appropriate, whether going with him or staying here as he ventured up, would suit him. ❝ it’s a shame i don’t have a warp staff... ❞ not that lucius has doubts in the man’s ability to scale a tree given the physical feats he’s watched raven pull off. though he supposes, in any case, that wouldn’t do much for where he was concerned.
tucking his ribbon in a pocket to free both his hands for the endeavor, he begins rolling up his sleeves to the elbows, eyeing up the trunk and lowest branches for the best footholds to begin the ascent. there isn’t much open space to work with — and, admittedly, he’s not very well-versed in tree-climbing — but it shouldn’t be too difficult. a nod to his companion ( still unaware of the broadening, sparkling expectant grin on the face of the young merchant behind his back ). ❝ you go first, lord raven. i’ll follow your lead. ❞
With the changing of seasons, especially as they leaped into spring, And if that was possible, then perhaps he could change too, gradually
“Alright, then. I know what I wish to write,” and he pens it, black ink seeping into pink satin. It doesn’t take him long as it was short and simple: for Lucius to continue to stay by his side.
It was no grand gesture working to solve a countrywide problem and not much in the way of a career path. Mercenary life could only last as long as his bones and muscles would allow him. Besides, his interests could steer elsewhere such as forging or even training the young and ambitious. ( The latter he wasn’t ready to admit, but a mix of tenderness and exhaustion ran through him when he considered it. ) It was at least a step in the direction of filling his life with purpose again, one that wasn’t fueled by hatred.
They meet the merchant back at the tree and she greets them eager as ever. “Afternoon! Figured out what to write?” Before he has much time to respond, she claps her hands together, spins and grabs something out of her bag, and spins back. “I actually had a little something for you both, free of charge of course! To commemorate your time here, the goddess told me specifically to give these to you. Some like to call it red string of fate, anyhow… Please, think of this place when you look at it. If I may?” She gestures to Lucius with the braided red cord, offering to tie it for him first.
when raven rises from his seat, lucius follows — and, as ever, falls into easy step beside him again. emerging from the shade, he squints faintly against the renewed brilliance of unobstructed sunlight, and amid passing individuals and pairs, they make their way back to the wishing tree and its cheerful guardian. at the mention of ‘ commemoration ’, he smiles and willingly extends a wrist for the simple red cord she pulls from her bag. just some superstition to sell the tourism, he can imagine the man beside him might say, but the reality was in the belief, so lucius likes to think. and though he hasn’t told lord raven this himself ( or perhaps he had — if so, it has to have been many years ago now, before they could have imagined what would happen to house cornwell ), he's long trusted that the path that had placed him at his lord’s side was one set for him by the saint.
❝ i’ll remember this occasion, ❞ he says warmly to the young merchant, turning his wrist before his eyes to admire the thread, then looking back to her. ❝ thank you for doing this... it’s a wonderful idea. may the blessings of your goddess be upon you. ❞
as she turns to raven next, lucius steps away towards the branches, head craned back to admire their strips upon strips of shell-pink taffeta rippling like streams in the breeze amid the greenery, offering flickering glimpses of their inked messages for gods and the onlookers. his eye catches cursorily on a couple of them, but these wishes aren’t for him to grant, and so neither for him to peruse. public though they may be, there’s nevertheless a quiet privacy about them to which curiosity seems disruptive.
instead, he circles towards the tree’s other side, wedged closer to the fence and thus more sparsely decorated. still, even here, the lowest-hanging boughs are full to overlapping — lovely and heartening to behold, and certainly good for the merchant’s business, but something of a challenge where finding space for two more is concerned. perhaps further up...? —yes, plenty of space beckons among the higher branches, but... is he equipped to be scaling a tree...? well, and there’s also the matter of lord raven’s own ribbon. he glances past the trunk at the other man’s distant profile. best to simply wait for him...
𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞. To support a desire of nothing, that didn’t sound like the man that sat next to him. How could he be glad for nothing? Guided by an empty and meaningless— Listen first, react second. He was still working on that. He settles, jaw unclenched and mouth sealed tight, swallowing whatever argument he had building up. He took a more passive stance resting back on his palms. He still had much to learn from the man beside him.
“A future I want to see huh?” he muses. A glance over at what Lucius wrote, out of curiosity, tempts a hint of a smile, but even if not outwardly, his heart still stirs. A lofty dream, but not entirely wishful.
He looks skyward, as if the sun streaming through patchy tree cover could fill his ears too with soft whispers of what to do. What kind of future did he want to see for himself? For so long, he had been focused on a singular goal, and maybe that was his problem.
What was a mercenary but someone trying to make coin, living from paycheck to paycheck? And yet, the life of a noble wasn’t entirely enticing either. Whether out of foolish stubbornness, when the opportunity practically ( and too generously ) fell into his lap he refused, insisting that he take his sword and cut a way for himself. And where was that?
Not too far away, the sound of leaves rustling snatches him out of his thoughts as a large black bird soars away into never-ending blue.
“…Are wishes allowed to be selfish?” he asks, finally, voice softer than usual not in volume but intent.
it nests somewhere in lord raymond still, he likes to think: that path forward. otherwise, when the anger of the past had been sorted out with the marquess ostia and he had been offered a chance to return and remake the life they had both once cherished, he would not have so firmly refused and walked out of that chamber no loftier a man than he had entered. the decision had surprised even raven himself, perhaps, more than his attendant, who hadn’t raised a word to comment but simply fallen into step easily behind him again as though such was the natural course of events. even now, he thinks sometimes raven is bewildered still by his own choice, but to lucius, it seemed to be everything he already knew.
perhaps that was an idyllic, simplistic view of things. perhaps it was more than that. but he does not believe himself entirely wrong to see within that decision the man who had always been known to grasp at his own life with both hands.
even in his darkest hours, he had done so. he does not think he would lose that now.
twining his own ribbon absently about his fingers, he lets contemplation sit with his lord for a while. they are in no rush, after all — a small but keenly-felt blessing after the events of the last year. the spring here is lovely in fódlan, balmy and sun-kissed through the shade. even nested in the heart of mountains, the monastery feels neither thin nor cold.
then, at the soft question, his smile reappears, head half-turning back to the other man as his eyes trail a blackbird on its journey up the boughs. ❝ yes, i believe so. there is no harm in wishing for yourself. it is only natural. ❞ the bird plucks a twig in its beak, its little head tilting in curious and charming motion, as though to consider its prize, before it takes off — to add to the season of its budding nest, most likely — and is no more than a branch left bobbing in its wake.
whenever lord raven has finished putting his wish down in writing, he is ready to accompany him back to the tree.
[ 🗾 ] how self-sufficient is your muse? are they more independent, or do they need others around them?
✧ // symbol meme. / @divinetyrfing
despite what his softspoken and hesitant demeanor, and the fact that he’s so reluctant to let raven go off on his own, might suggest, lucius is surprisingly independent where his own needs are concerned. rather than insisting on accompanying raven all the time because of a dependency on the other man, it’s really just that he takes his position as raven’s vassal quite seriously and assumes a degree of responsibility for anything that might happen to him.
by himself though, lucius is comfortable handling himself, and doesn’t tend to rely on or need others for physical, emotional, etc. support. he’s adept at handling his own affairs and navigating the world on his own if need be. does he like companionship? absolutely. he’d likely prefer it if given the choice because burdens of any kind are always easier when shared. but he doesn’t need it.
prior to age 13-14 when he entered into the service of house cornwell, he was on his own in many ways post the age of 3, which is the primary reason for his self-sufficiency. he was, in name, under the care of the orphanage, but it’s clear that the orphanage really didn’t do much for the children that lived there in the way of wellbeing. with the clear suggestion in canon that lucius’ life there was populated by neglect, misery, and loneliness ( he describes the “poverty and despair” as being enough to “eat at one’s very soul” ), he was largely on his own where it came to supporting himself, in many senses of the word.
( i say largely because he did have one very good adult role model from outside of the orphanage that played the biggest role in smolcius’ development as a little person despite the conditions of his upbringing, but that’s 100% my own hc and very off-topic. so, another time. )
he also set off on his own from the orphanage at a young age ( by my math-ing and hc, most likely around 12-13 ) to become a traveling monk, which again is both demonstrative of and helped to further cultivate his self-sufficiency before he then was taken in by house cornwell.
Under reserved light there’s a man who is as green as he is blue, and in his eyes are soliloquys that bar through slits so you’re forced to read between the lines. There’s something of his history that Henry can’t place, because in a world where faith is so desiccated that rustic golds and opals of stained glass retrogress to sand, Lucius stands untouched by the spoils of the earth. He stroked flames to sleep and he spoke to his Gods in the ribcage of another, and it’s fair Henry thinks, that Lucius has lived a little green. It’s fair, Henry, thinks, that Lucius should be saved the trouble. Because there was little valor in false opulence, but since the man of cloth had a veil filmed over his eyes, his halo may as well have been framed of pure gold.
“Nah! Nothing you need to be bothered about, ahaha~ Just dying and then not, so it doesn’t really matter.” If candor was the same as veracity, the world would have considered him kind. But he’s not, or at least, he finds libel of himself easier to swallow. He can’t place exactly how he feels of Lucius, because he was almost, absolutely, quite frankly relieved that the man still had faith at all. Because in his blue there is Libra’s green, and the man himself had lived through enough bloodshed to prove his faith kind. If Lucius was anything like Libra, then he could learn how to heal.
( He doesn’t answer the likes of flight either, so Henry was left with no understanding on that front. But laughter sparked in Henry’s chest, as the number of times he could ticket in on a monk’s patience was apparently one. It was the same back home, too. Seriously, they ought to meet one day. )
“You haven’t seen a girl around these parts, have ya? Yay tall, yee pink? Very alive and well?” Henry always had the notion that once you misplaced something, looking for it would become feasibly more difficult. And that… in order to find it again, you must decide not to look for it. But he was so adamant on the former that he would rather take that time to lose, than to pretend he hadn’t lost anything at all. “Yeah? Me neither, I guess. I’ll keep looking~”
There are vestiges of majesty overlooking them both, as pearled light dappled the ground in stories of a saint-or-another’s splendor. Since this was not his church to hoist over his shoulders, nor his skeletons to reap, could Lucius be informed of the corpses kept beneath this pasted-over ruin? Or of the false gods built of glass and a trance as strong as family? No. Henry probably shouldn’t. “Can we start today? Are you busy listening to flower’s sing?” In fairness, he probably shouldn’t have talked about that either. “Oh, that’s the choir. Nevermind, then!”
He’s not so mad as he is sincere. Isn’t that right?
@sanktere
blue uncovers only a veneer of that same disarming smile for its answer, and with the ring of the accompanying laugh, finds its spoken claim uncertain. is this some macabre joke devised among the student or faculty body — though he can’t figure out what the feasible point would be? but there are those for whom the purpose of cruel deception is in the sport itself, and he’s no stranger to being the target of any number of pranks in the past. or is it simply, despite the sudden and uncanny nature of the conversation, at the face value of what the young man says? that there had perhaps been a near-death experience, but that it has since been resolved, the student in question in safe hands, and that this request now came on its heels in hopes of being better prepared for the next time.
another seeming non-sequitur is quick on its heels before he has a chance to decide, or respond. a pink haired girl? perhaps he has, or hasn’t, with how little he’s been able to match names to faces yet. he feels as though there had been pink hair in his periphery— maybe? there were a considerable number of people on these grounds each day.
and then, back to the topic of healing magic. ❝ um... flowers...? ❞ the choir, henry corrects himself. what an odd way he has of putting things... but all the same, if there was a request for help, he would just have to do the best he could. if it proved impossible, he’s certain that there are many others better suited to the practice than himself. ❝ ah... yes, we can begin soon. please, wait just a moment... ❞
organ song drifts into the space left between the two as the douter in his hands returns to its rhythmic work — one candle... then the next, in steady lifts and falls, the chapel’s eyes one by one winking out. a thought occurs to lucius then, as he contemplates how this instructor had clearly come prepared with a name to seek him in particular when the church’s more senior bishops and cardinals would clearly make more knowledgeable teachers. ❝ oh, i should warn you, ❞ he says, turning back to him, ❝ i am not of fódlan, and am still adjusting to the ways of casting here... where i am from, healing is done with a staff, and so... ❞
will he acclimate? the senior clergy had noted the difference in technique when they had hired him, but hadn’t appeared surprised, nor had they pushed for conformity past the tomeless mastering of nosferatu, what they had called their most basic offensive faith magic spell; fortunately, he’d had the foresight in the moment not to express his confusion aloud, to find that this nosferatu acted upon nearly-identical principles to its twin spell in elibe by the same name but stronger, wholly secular, and firmly within the tree of dark magic. and he won’t readily forget the looks they had given him when he had asked after his own known rudiments of lightning and shine.
and so, as he begins to lead the man out of the alcove and towards the staff area and its more secluded chapel rooms, he wonders — what is it he hopes to teach here, to a professor likely more versed in the magic of this place than himself?
❝ i am happy to show you what i know, of course, but i am still inexperienced. for that, i apologize... ❞
his earliest knowledge of these beasts of daily burden were that they were to be avoided at nearly all costs. as a scrawny child sporadically left to navigate the dusty yellow streets of the shambled town by his lonesome, sighting one of the terrifying mammoths, as they’d appeared at the time, with the loud clopping that accompanied them and legs thicker than his whole self was wide, meant only that he would be driven or shouted out of the way of the road at best. and often only as a last resort, when bystanders realized he wouldn’t move on his own and were thus forced to acknowledge that such a wretched sight even existed — always with the same reluctance, the same terse vexation he only later grew to learn was born from discomfort.
years later, under the tutelage of house cornwell, the fearful adolescent met them again in a world that could not be more different from the one he’d come. cornwell stabled horses — as all nobility of lycia did, he learned — but lord raymond had never taken to them, and so his leave from the animals had been mercifully extended once again.
and after? whether for the convenience or the money, they had simply never been a consideration past the occasional, brief contact. a short ride, whether by rental or the kindness of a passing stranger, then never seen again.
all in all, lucius is certain it would have been difficult to appoint a more ill-fitted candidate to serve as judge in such an academy-wide contest.
despite having newly arrived, he has some idea of the students here. lords and vassaled knights, future ministers and princesses and kings no lesser than the bodies of the lycian league or the etrurian crown. for him to take an eye to their horsehandling is like asking a trout to rate an eagle on its flight. nevertheless... here he walks among the stalls and rows of beast upon beast, each more extravagantly adorned than the last, a fairground replete with patterns ornate and simplistic, kaleidescopic and minimalist; with braided manes and perfumed tails, oiled saddles, caparisons, head-dresses; with creatures of every size and shape and color imaginable. and he hardly knows what he should be looking for, or at.
partway into the fourth showing row, however, his eyes land on the tallest he’s seen of them yet, towering easily head and withers over its neighbor and the partitioning wall. perhaps its the sheer size of it that gives him pause, and for an instant he feels small and thin again and staring up at the four-legged goliaths coming down the path, ready to duck out of their incoming and unrelenting pace before he’s trampled.
beside it, tending and dwarfed by her charge, he imagines is its handler — a comely young lady in aquarian teal. such is the duo that he can’t help but be curious, and chance a ( hesitant ) step nearer. ❝ this one... ❞ he begins haltingly, never quite letting his eye stray from the giant, ❝ ... is it yours? ❞
—— nightshade : what is a painful truth your character has had to face?
through his life, there’s been quite a few, but one of the most recent and likely one of the most difficult for lucius to come to terms with was the truth that there was so little he could do to help raven after the fall of house cornwell.
mun note: i’ve done my best here to speak only from my lucius interpretation’s point of view and avoid coming down hard on assumptions, but @basiliphis please weigh in if you feel like i’ve misrepresented anything here!
for one who wants so much to do what he can to make the world a little bit of a better place, and who ( in my hc ) was brought into service under house cornwell not because of his strength of character or combat ability but because he wanted to be a safe harbor for others, it was incredibly difficult to realize that he could only do so much for the one person he was supposed to provide that for above all others.
in the 2 years after the fall of house cornwell, raven obviously gets deep into a spiral of pain and aggression and hatred, and very little to none of lucius’ attempts to soothe and reason get through to him if what little the game script gives us is any indication. their support conversations seem to suggest that raven probably interpreted a lot of these attempts as lucius misunderstanding or pitying him, and i’d be willing to bet that the resulting altercations probably widened a rift between them. during lyn’s story when we first meet lucius, he’s also traveling by himself for reasons unknown, and while there’s no evidence of this in canon, it’s possible this temporary separation could be the result of a fallout from this tension.
in any case, while lucius of course always comes back to and sticks by raven anyway no matter how the other treats him, one can imagine that he’s probably tried everything he can think of to attempt to help him, to little avail. one can also imagine that raven’s attitude about how nothing matters more to him than this revenge and how he’s willing to die for it if that’s what it takes is also really hard for him to stomach. stuff like raven’s final battle quote ( “if i die here... so be it.” ) are likely really difficult for lucius to hear, whether or not raven means them to sound as nihilistic as lucius interprets them.
and sometimes we get glimpses of how all this affects him:
Caelin Soldier:
“Your master… He’s betrayed us. Lucius, I must ask. What will you do?”
Lucius:
“I… I want to stop Lord Raven. However… In his current state, I…doubt he will lend me his ear. And so…I will…wait. I will wait for Lord Raven here. I’m sorry… I cannot fight. …Please understand.”
of course lucius is a passive person by nature, but i think this moment speaks to a little more than just that. he’s just seen raven not only bully and threaten in pursuit of his revenge, but throw aside all his ethics, morals, and loyalties for a chance to kill one man, and on top of that, also won’t let lucius do his job as his vassal and come with him while he does it. more than just his usual unwillingness to make waves, this moment seems to suggest for lucius a deeply conflicted hopelessness. he’s at his wits’ end after once again seeing raven so deep in the grips of the worst side of himself and being unable to do anything about it. so he’ll just wait like he’s been told, and pray that he at least comes back. he also has a tendency throughout his dialogue of getting a lot more profilic with ellipses, particularly ellipses in the middle of his sentences, when he’s really struggling or upset, as opposed to his default brand of soft-spoken, so that’s also influenced my interpretation here.
i think by the time of their C support, lucius has already realized that there’s very little he can do besides be a broken record and speak his same opinions over and over again, and that the change and healing that raven needs can really only come from himself. that the most he can do for him is to stay by his side no matter what as long as raven will have him there and just keep praying. this truth is an immeasurably tough pill for him to swallow.
Queen Anne’s Lace: If your character could pretend one thing, what would it be? (( eyes emoji ))
✧ // flower and tree prompts. / @basiliphis & @serenegaldr
would you believe me if i said i’ve been turning this question over in my head for (when did i reblog this meme) five days LMAO i went through so much and so many different ideas and stared my muse in the face for so long like trying to figure out an answer that wasn’t just the cop-out of “nothing, really”. like if he could pretend anything, would it be that house cornwell had never fallen? that raven hadn’t suffered? that he could’ve been the one to have suffered instead of him? that his parents hadn’t died? that his childhood at the orphanage had been different?
and none of these were right. so. but, in the end, i think i came to an answer. and i think if lucius really could pretend one thing,
it would be that he was strong.
i think he blames his weakness a lot. for the fact that he’s consistently plagued by this illness. it’s a sickness of the soul, he says, because his experiences at the orphanage had — let me use language here lucius never would — fucked him up so bad. ( it’s goddamn ptsd lucius!!!! i yell back at the serenesforest script. not that he knows what that is. anyway. ) but he sees it as a reflection of the weakness of his heart that, if he were stronger, more resilient, wouldn’t afflict him. or at least quite so badly.
he knows he’s the kind of person who tends to be passive, who tends to let people jerk him around, who isn’t contentious or outspoken or opinionated. ( he is opinionated; he just doesn’t like to voice it. unless you’re raven. ) usually he’s fine with how he is. sometimes he does wish he was a little different. sometimes he wonders if things would have gone differently if he was different.
this wondering is also a kind of weakness, to him. clergy of the elimine church are supposed to strive to be kind of superhuman, in a way — at least, in the branch of the elimine faith that i hc he ascribes to. ( different schools of elimine religion, a deep dive for another time. ) they’re all supposed to seek to emulate the saint as much as possible, in her patience and strength and love and wisdom, and seek to rise above the struggles and doubts of the human heart. how are they supposed to guide and help and heal others, otherwise?
maybe if he’d also been physically stronger, house caelin wouldn’t have fallen either. actually, the more i write this, the more i realize a lot of this ties back into lucius’ more deep-seated traumas of fearing — i’m not sure what to call it; some mixture of failure and ‘ not being good enough ’ and ‘ doing it wrong ’ — but more than fearing that, fearing the rebuke of it.
honestly though, for as much as i’ve rambled here, for the most part, these thoughts of wishing he was better than he is don’t plague lucius all that often. generally, he doesn’t want for much; he doesn’t want to erase the past or wish it hadn’t happened. but, on those days when he’s feeling really unwell and unsure and it’s like the whole world is breathing down his neck, he does wish he could overcome.
His death by circumstance was corroded with promises he could not keep, with countless words and tears that fell to deaf ears, with a smile that could not hold. Henry had awoken from his own oblivion, as hands upon hands folded over in reflections of past lives he could not trace back. Visions overlapped, and it was only his hands that he looked towards as a beacon for where his soul stood. Exactly which life was this one? He was not cupping blood, nor holding another—neither was he at a supper where a wine chalice was passed. Now that he had been cursed to tide against the ample stream of recollections, Henry thought he ought to keep his promises.
For reasons untouched by even himself, Henry went on with this life as though nothing had happened. Surely, he had forgotten. Surely, he didn’t need to cope. Surely, the only reason he was visiting the chapel, looking for an angel was because he wanted to ask — “Lucius, was it? What’s it like to fly?” Even in his death, he hadn’t known.
“Oh! Right, right… introductions. I’m Henry Crowley, professor and professional dead man walking!” His smile met his eyes quite easily, glittering with circumstance and a knowing glance. Even the stars knew less than him— now that he had died and returned to flesh. Ossified and dusted, simply to return to flesh! Even Henry thought this was a little untoward of fate. Bringing his hand up to his forehead, he toted a little army salute for the theatrics of it all. Well, he wasn’t here for answers, was he?
“Actually, that’s not why I’m here, ahaha~”
Lucius wasn’t an angel, but the mere ground he walked on emanated in holy energy. His very presence was a stark contrast to Henry’s own, and one would have to be a blind man to deny it. And it was in this reversed reflection that he had to seek some solace. ( So no, he wasn’t here for answers. He was here for action. For motion. For something beyond a solution. )
A change. Probably!
“If you can, do you mind teaching me how to heal? I’m a little tired of watching students die.”
@sanktere
beyond these silent and decorated walls, the world raged on. life and wars and men and love — as it had, as it always would in human fullness. for this, in this little enclave of solace, he bent his head, he folded his hands. here, these towering stone walls held vigil over stillness that had lasted through it all, kept solemn and discreet like a capsule of history’s enbalming. time traced here, as much in the ambient shafts of evenlight that colored dust motes the rustic golds and opals of stained glass windows as in the sonorous hum of the organ’s pipe from somewhere far in the back, coaxing the stones in melody to a gentle remembrance of the day.
in his travels, it was the first he’d found of a house of worship that reminded him so much of the cathedrals of etruria. curious and beautiful, how people of eras and lands apart, of faiths so disparate, still lifted their voices in similar praise, built and read and prayed in similar vestige, as though all guided by the same hand that had moved the hearts of men perhaps from a time before gods had names.
an approaching rhythm of footsteps enters above the organ’s low melody, and he turns from his evening duties with curiosity at his name, douter in hand and a handful of vesper prayers’ residual candles still lit. but the abrupt question is so unexpected that he can only blink, trying at once to recall if he had ever met this man before and if any recent event could be cause for the sudden occasion. one of those is answered for him when the man instead cheerily follows with an introduction — albeit one that only adds more confusion.
and just as he shifts to trying to decide if that disarmingly bright smile implies seriousness or a strange joke he wasn’t certain how to follow, the pretense ( if that is, in fact, what it had been at all... ) drops entirely, leaving him feeling as though he knows as little as he had before the other had started speaking.
fortunately, his final request at least is sensible. and there is something in the directness of it that draws lucius to turn fully towards him. — no, perhaps not the candor itself, but the suggestion of what lay beneath it. ❝ ... healing magic? ... yes, i can try to help you. ❞ though it was rather different from the rooms of young and enterprising students that attended his sections — was this henry truly one of the academy’s professors? regardless, the desire to learn, to heal, was always one worthy of encouragement, that superceded title or age. but, his eyes find the other’s, blue and earnest with concerns for the implications of his motive. he had not heard of any recent tragedy, but he is so new here. ❝ did... did something happen? ❞
the lone figure of the man looks as though he might almost be blown into the sea. one hand shielding his eyes from the triumphant glare of the sun, fierce cliffside gusts making a streaming banner of his golden hair. the rich, pungent salt of ocean baywater spirals skyward on the updraft, carrying with it the crashing spray of churning waters on the sheer rocks below.
he glances down. it’s certainly a long drop to those frothing, aegean-white rapids whipped into frenzy by the wind — almost enough to make his head spin, and he takes an instinctive step further back from the edge.
lord raymond, possibly the others, will come looking for him soon. indecision shakes in his heart, feeble thing it has always been.
sacrilege would follow his name if he were to listen to this rash, terrible notion that had taken hold of him. the twin ivories bound in sacred lettering clutched beneath his arm feel as though they still burn — beyond their bindings, through his robes, unto flesh — even though the battle had ended,
truly, truly ended,
and the safety and domain of man settled again over all elibe.
cursory though his exposure had been, he will never be as he was before the Light had come at his asking. hands and forearms still braise and tingle, not as if grazed by fire, but the overwhelming colorless purity that light magic created: caustic and invisible, and his skin had thinned, seemed glassier for it. not even a handful of hours with such relics, to this — and they had hardly been at a fraction of their full power! the saint had truly been a savior beyond human limitations.
they had hardly been at their full power. aureola and luce. and of what strange truth he dared to imagine the former whispered to him voicelessly through its aurigraphy.
it had been held in the saint’s hands. dispelled evil. he knew the tales like a child their favorite lullaby, the songs of praise in his sleep. ‘ when i behold the Glorious Word, bestowed by Her Most Divine to guide... ♫ ’ there were no words to render the honor of carrying it, much less having pulled from its holy pages.
yet, what was it — itself?
... the gale-tossed waters lash upon the cliff. ❝ lucius! ❞ ... they had found him. he had hesitated too long.
no. he knows that’s not true. he would never have done it. turning, he smiles to his allies and companions alongside whom he had toiled and fought, offers some apology for straying off. yes, there was a new elibe to return to across the bay. footsteps retreat from the windswept precipice; two fathomless weights beneath his arm.
ooc. hallo all o/ i’m looking to take up one more thread for lucius, specifically for the riding prompt this season! absolutely not making eyes at the troubadour class nope. some preliminary thots, CLOSED. ( ty! )
✧ i imagine lucius’ demeanor makes him a calming presence for animals, but he also has very limited experience with them himself and i think would be nervous at first. maybe meeting your mount can help acclimate him a bit? in return his vibes can probably keep your four legged baby from just eating all the flowers you braid to it instead :T
✧ it’d be pretty funny if he caught you red handed “““borrowing””” one of the ones from the stables cause you don’t have your own. whatcha gonna say huh. ( just kidding lucius is a carpet he’d probably just wring his hands or something )
✧ alternative take, lucius somehow found himself on the judging panel for the contest! does he know a thing about quality dressage? no. maybe someone said pretty people should judge the pretty things. you know lucius; he probably couldn’t get a word in edgewise to protest. convince him to cast his vote for you. it’s probably not that hard. or take the chance to teach him what ACTUALLY makes a horse pretty
✧ are you a wyvern rider? are you convinced your wyvern is 1000% prettier than any of these pathetic skittish ponies? do you care that this competition probably isn’t about you? absolutely not. lucius is rooting for you just for your spirit
ideas not exhaustive ofc but these are just some very basic expansions i pulled off the top of my head just now. whether one of these strikes your fancy or you have some other idea or just want the riding point, dm me through discord if interested! ( i’ll also respond to tumblr im’s here, but fair warning may be delayed and / or slow. )
✦ ` it is so small a slight that it feels immeasurably large. long has it been since adrestia wore the church’s approval like a crown and longer has it been since the empire shown deference to its teachings. it only stands to reason that it, in turn, should care little for the games the empire plays. the plight of her city—whatever it should be called now—is only just that. she knows this is likely a choice of convenience. that the archbishop, should she or her esteemed lackeys deem that the situation not merit it, there would be no one who stands here opposite to her now.
it may very well be that they may have been the one best suited for such a task. though, constance half-wonders if she ought ask what apparitions must plague their home to be so well-equipped in banishing them.
the people of nuvelle ought be thankful then for his appearance.
as should she, but isn’t.
“the walls of the church have ears,” constance replies, digits lightly tugging on an earring of hers. more importantly, garreg mach had her, who was oft described as much too nosy for her own good. her eyes lie fixed ahead of her, attention seized by the fog in their shared quiet. at times, she thinks that she sees the face of a fisherman that she used to see by the port. others, she thinks she sees the hand of a child in her skirts—she’d brushed them off at the time. she forgets what it is that child had asked of her; though from the frumpy hair and rumpled clothing, she could only expect that they’d asked for money. she thinks she said no. thinks she might have said worse. her hand falls away from the pearl, arm slack as elbow rests against the dip of her wrist.
“you do yourself a great disservice. did i not already apologize?” she was in the wrong here for being so undeservingly rude. it is not the monk’s fault as she had said before as much as it was her own misgivings. “you are not here to assist me, nor i, you.” she crosses her arms. “i was—” there is no merit in telling them the truth, just as there was none in lying except for saving face.
it is admirable in the fact alone that this lucius doesn’t simply storm off. she sighs, shaking her head as she turns to face him properly. “—and i am constance von nuvelle. tell me, what did the church say to you of this place?”
if not here to assist her, then...? struggling a moment to comprehend, lucius only begins to see, slowly, the unfolding of affairs when she returns her name to his introduction and something about it rings familiar. nuvelle... isn’t that—? if he doesn’t recall incorrectly, the name had surfaced briefly in what small explanation the senior staff had given him prior to his urgent departure. their portrait of the area’s history had been limited to what he would need for the journey, and, eager to prove useful in his new establishment, he hadn’t chanced further questions. cleansing restless spirits, after all, didn’t always warrant full knowledge of why they had come in the first place.
something in the girl’s expression, however — or rather, the tone of her inquiry — strikes a chord with the beginnings of budding suspicions only now taking tentative shape. ❝ only to investigate the rumors of restless spirits here and, if needed, perform the necessary rites to keep them from plaguing the townspeople. ❞ nuvelle, nuvelle... ❝ i was told that house gerth of adrestia oversees the area, and to contact the duke should i require assistance... ❞
but none of these, he thinks, are what she is looking for.
he doesn’t dare assume... does he?
clearing his throat, he continues more slowly. ❝ they... did speak in passing of a tragedy that had befallen this area not ten years ago. i wasn’t told any details, only that it could possibly be the source of the disturbance... and... ❞ what he hadn’t thought twice of at the time. what only, uncertainly, coalesces now between the name and the coincidence and the anger so palpable and familiar about her. there is a certain kind of recognition that comes with the repetition of what feels like still-recent history. fingers tighten imperceptibly about the polished wood of his staff, a growing density in his chest, a gnawing at his heart. ❝ there... was mention of the name nuvelle. a former house, i— i believe... ❞
should his notions prove true, it would be as though the hand of elimine had herself guided him here alike so many miles away. but for what purpose to this young lady of canary and concord? what could he have that he had not had then? his dimmed gaze that had at some point fallen to a distant point upon the ground cloaked by the setting fog slides back to her, now, and the air feels suddenly colder. ❝ ... are you...? ❞
𝐇𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭. He doesn’t mind because it’s Lucius. A soft and kind-hearted man who had been through things he could not begin to understand and still bestowed light out of himself so that someone else may see. An apology was the least he could give for someone else who gave so much.
On account of the man’s own apology, he didn’t need to, Raven had rightfully deserved it being as stubbornly wrong as he was. Not just in this instance either. Though they had spent more than half their lives together, there were times when they wouldn’t see eye-to-eye. Occasional conflict didn’t mean constant dissonance. And he’d tell him this had it not been for the silence that befalls them.
No, he wants to say, it’s nothing. Nothing worthy of troubling Lucius over. Though if their shared history of nearly two decades worth told him anything, it was he’d be troubling him more if he kept his worries to himself. “I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what it is that I want. Hell, even after the whole… mm…” he waves his hand around, grimace crossing his face but leaving as soon as it came, “Ostia thing, what have I been fighting for?” What has he been living for? Is it selfish or undeserving even to wish upon a tree?
Raven pulls out the now crumpled and still blank ribbon from his pocket. “This is all so silly, right? To be thinking about this so hard.” An exhale leaves him in the form of a half laugh of disbelief. For such a foolish and gimmicky tourist spot he dismissed at first, it had done a decent job of picking and twisting his thoughts.
watching that brow crease a little and a little until at last the admission comes in the softness of a disgruntled grumble. lucius listens patiently... until a smile takes gentle place on his features, making brief half-moons of his eyes. he suppresses a fond chuckle at raven’s expense, lest it seem as though he’s making light of the other’s dilemma. ❝ it gladdens my heart to hear you want for nothing, ❞ he muses. ❝ to see this peace for you... is a blessing for me as well. ❞ the raven of scant years before would doubtlessly have penned his wishes in blind vengeance, and even the lord raymond of halcyon days had surely wanted. what a changed man who sat beside him now beneath these familiar gestures and expressions, that same voice and face.
he looks down to his own ribbon and its single, ambitious fantasy — a world where not one child is neglected. ❝ i also had trouble thinking of something to wish for... ❞ and then, back to raven, interested in a thread he had mentioned. ❝ though, i believe what you said may be a good place to start: what do you fight for? a wish needn’t be something you want, but perhaps... a prayer for the kind of future you hope to see. ❞
and that is something of lord raymond’s that he’d be curious to know. so much of the recent years have been spent looking immediately ahead out of necessity — after the fall of house cornwell, without a coin left to raven’s name, to their survival, their livelihoods, their next meal and roof. guided by his lord’s dogged maelstrom of pain and anger, they hadn’t had the means to imagine brazenly of the future.
he loathes to think of the picture he had once suspected before, that raven had even one-time resigned himself to none.
perhaps, he thinks, that is why he had wanted to bring him here to begin with, at the cusp of their own new and arduous chapter in this land. what he hoped to see — lord raymond, that your heart still knows how to dream.
Bold where applicable, italicize where situationally relevant
APHRODITE. (2.5) laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, turned on by danger.
APOLLO. (4) glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeping naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes.
ARES. (4.5) armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.
ARTEMIS. (2.5) keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.
ATHENA. (3) discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.
DEMETER. (4.5) soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants (elementals), leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.
DIONYSUS. (0) drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.
HEPHAESTUS. (0.5) the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry.
HERA. (1) resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.
HERMES. (0) devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.
POSEIDON. (5.5) storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.
ZEUS. (2) thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch.
