#{they...}

[nonpareiltactician]

Sits beside offers him lunch. It's actually just a large portion of her lunch that she's refusing to eat. Maybe her grandpa would like it? If he noticed, the only thing that seemed to be missing from it was the sweet pastry that would usually accompany it.

     Although Saias cannot claim to know Morgan all that well, there are some actions that are universal. People, no matter their age, standing or personality, only ever seem to leave food behind when something is wrong. Be it an issue as small as simply being full, or one far worse like being properly ill; no-one does this without cause. So when the younger tactician dares to offer up the rest of her lunch to him, the archbishop decides that, for now, it would be wise to take it-- not for himself, but to instead buy some time to figure out if his descendant is okay.       She is, after all, quite an unusual individual.

          “...Is everything all right?”

     His voice is gentle and warm, a tone Saias has long taken to while speaking with the other if only to remind to remind her she in the presence of someone safe-- someone who is still learning to understand her quirks, but one who has accepted the girl all the same.

          “I didn’t think you to be the sort that would lose their appetite so quickly,”

[f-ortuity]

@sireneia​ || Continued from X

          “I--”

     She hesitates, brown eyes shooting down to the weapon in question, her brow furrowing form a mix of emotions that Altena, herself, cannot begin to describe. Gloved hands tighten their grasp on its shaft.

          “...No, I can’t remember anything like that,”

     The princess remembers her mother’s embrace, being clutched close to her chest atop a horse, yet they are pictorial memories her mind recollects-- they are feelings. Emotions and vague sensations, but not a single image attaches itself to them-- a common fate for childhood memories that have been left untouched for years. Not even the face of her true father is known to Altena, and yet, when she looks upon Leif’s features, the princess cannot help but believe he must have looked something like him, be it physically or the way he looks at her.      But she is incapable of remembering him the way her brother hopes.

          “The gáe bolg... as much as I want to look upon it fondly, I cannot help but see it as a tool. Maybe it is the lance our father wielded, yet the blood it demands-- isn’t that the only value my fath--... Travant... saw in me?”

     To say that she expects Leif to understand would be nothing more than a lie, nor does the princess ask that he continue trying when it is clear they are both at a loss. A bond as close as the one between siblings cannot be forced, and while Altena feels some connection to the boy, it is nothing like what she shares with Arion. How could it be, when the two have only been in contact for such a short amount of time? When she is still figuring out her own problems? Pale lips purse themselves together for a brief moment, and her frown deepens.

          “...Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe it is me who is the tool, and the gáe bolg just an extension of my will. I wish to see it as a protector of the people, however... for now, there is too much to look past.”

[fellmother-archive]

@tomeofwanderers​ || One-liner Starter Call           Gregor

          “Why, I always thought the Plegian night sky shone so beautifully, and yet... here they are, brighter than ever. You certainly have a way of lighting up the room-- enough for even the stars to take note of.”