#anthieseofvalentia

[jasperblion]

"Alm? Is that really you?"

His head turns, and that confirmation is all she needs. She is flying, feet barely skimming the ground. All thoughts of class, of her worries, gone as clouds in the summer.

Momentum too great to stop, she laughs and finds his arms around her. A tangle of limbs, she spins, once, twice, then meets him on the grass, giddy as a child.

Her face meets his chest, and when his arms find their way around her, she is gone. He is warm, and smells of the ocean, of sea winds and travel under fair skies.

"Oh, Alm..." She hadn't even realized how badly she had missed him.

A dream. A wish that this one moment could stretch into infinity.

Gently, the world returns to her, and is all the bit brighter for it. She pushes herself up from his shoulders, and looks into those eyes.

"Why are you here? Has something happened in Valentia? Who's running the Kingdom?"

“Hmm?”

A script all too familiar. But even with the benefactor of deja vu, Alm is none the wiser to avoid what was written next. With a turn of his head, he is met with the sight of the most calming, yet fierce fires barreling straight for him with arms outstretched. 

What comes next is the lady wrapping around his body, though her touch is more well-defined without a suit of blue armor covering his physique. If the charade were to continue, Alm would be down for the count in no time. But he has matured since then. They both have.

The king obliges with the first spin, moving his legs around to wrap alongside her. Then instead of keeping arms swaying aside, they meet her own body to keep her uplifted as their spirits. His balance is still…admittedly not perfect, causing them to inevitably tumble just the same with him on the bottom. At least this time, he can manage to laugh away alongside her, in on the act.

Rather than getting up right away, she buries her face into her chest. It makes it tough to get a good look of her…and is a little awkward out in the open.

“Uh, Celica? We’re right in the middle of-”

Oh, whatever, Alm concludes to himself, unable to complete his comment with a second sight of her caring touch.

They can afford to be immature, for at least another day.

He allows her as much time as needed for her to regain composure, the push on his shoulders feeling less stressing and more warm. The red eyes, orange hair, and golden headpiece…it has been only some months, but Alm is relieved to see Celica remain the same - outside of dress code.

It’s mid-observing of his beloved that he gets hit with all of the hard questions. Oh…right. Guess writing to the person you were about to meet across seas would be a little important, not to mention the whole royalty thing. But…it’s supposed to be a surprise!

“Woah woah, one at a time would be better! The kingdom’s doing fine, Celica. Just fine. The recovery’s been going smoothly…I just wish I could be doing more. Grandfather’s seen to manage rule, alongside your brother. Both were fine with my temporary leave…though it did take some back and forth on gramps’ end.”

Alm chuckles at the memory of a shocked Mycen speaking a little bit out of character. “Oh, and that first thing. I’m sorry I never wrote before coming. It’s just…I could - no, should be doing so much more back home than I am. If this academy is good enough for you to learn at, I’m sure it’s good enough for me too.”

“Also…” Alm smiles as he lingers on his last point, laying one of his hands atop Celica’s, still on his shoulder. “I wanted to see you again. Um, really, wanted to see you again. Call me greedful all you’d like, but something tells me you miiight feel just the same."

[rineas]

"Oh! Is that dress Rigelian?"

She does not recognize the woman, per se, but her attire is familiar, a style that she has seen before in the noble court of Rigel. Celica takes a moment to study her face.

"Pardon, where are my manners. My name is Celica, of Zofia. I don't believe we've met. Are you from Valentia as well?"

Even if Celica wouldn’t have any reason to be able to identify her, recognition flashes across Rinea’s expression like a harsh streak of light. Of course she knows the Queen of Valentina’s face—it would be impossible not to, even with the brief amount of time she was allowed to remain in the newly-formed nation before she was whisked away to Fódlan. She had heard whispers as she quietly pushed her way through the busied streets in the port town, excited murmurs of the new queen, once a lost princess of Zofia. She’s beautiful and kind, she and King Alm will be our saviors from the chaos Emperor Rudolf left behind in his death. And before she had departed, she had bore witness to the beginnings of a mural painted in the newly-anointed Saint King and Saint Queen’s honor—and Rinea couldn’t help but think to herself that the vermilion-haired woman was indeed lovely. It was only a painting, but it evoked the same feeling that Rinea always had when she looked at portraits or statues of Mother Mila—like she was bathed in the warm glow of her benevolence just by looking at her.

Absently, as she turned away and was pushed aboard the ship setting sail to Fódlan, Rinea felt a silly thought creep up on her. If she had become empress as Berkut had once intended, would just the sight of her image give people the same feeling of comfort and safety? 

( ...Of course not. What a ridiculous idea to even entertain. )

Now, gazing at the woman before her, Rinea sees that the painting still did her justice in her radiance. How could she ever hope to compare?

Curtsying, Rinea starts with, “Yes—” but her throat suddenly feels dry, and the words catch on the tip of her tongue. She clears her throat and tries again, eyes lowered to her shoes. “Yes, my lady. It was my mother’s... I was allowed to bring a few things from home, so—” Again, she coughs into the bank of her hand, suddenly feeling very small and very unsightly. Argh, why did she have to notice her?! The mention of her mother only reminds her that her parents would be appalled by how disastrously she’s handling this.

“Yes, you’re correct. On both counts.” She smiles feebly. “It’s an undue honor to meet you in person, your majesty. Um... I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have thought to ever see you here. Thank you for everything you and King Alm have done for our country... I... Er, I like your dress too?”

[warpaway]

It is not the first, fifth, or even the tenth time that she rounds the space of the bunker, yet each turn finds yet more to do. A wound to be patched, words to be said. It is only after she has lost count does she find them, previously obscured by the crowd.

A glimmer of torchlight against green hair catches her attention, and it is alarmingly familiar. She had recognized the hair, the posture. How could she not? It had been one that she had wired herself to look for the entirety of the battle yesterday.

She approaches slowly, cautiously. The mage— no, the boy is sitting, curled into a ball, black uniform invisible in corner of the dimly lit shelter. The shape — almost formless in the shadows — had escaped her attention in previous rounds, and still sat shivering against the cold stone.

Celica takes a knee besides him, then shifts her aching body to sit herself next to them. "Hey." She says softly. "I'm afraid I can't offer much comfort. I can't pretend to know what to say. But I can tell you're hurting, and I want to help. I'll be here for you, okay?"

The ball is quivering, and she is unsure if her words had even reached the mind underneath. She repeats her last line, and Linhardt lets out an almost imperceptible groan over the chatter of the crowd. Celica places her hands on the back of one of his, bleeding warmth back into hands mindlessly tracing furrows through mud-caked fabric.

The suffocating earth of the bunker does not allow for the sunlight to penetrate it, but it does not matter. She will stay here until the dawn breaks if she needs to.

time moves too slowly. if it moved as quickly as he'd like it to, he'd have fallen to exhaustion by now and been able to wake up at least a little refreshed. or stay asleep.

some one touches them. surprised, they jump slightly, before turning, trying to see who -

oh. it's her. he doesn't even remember her name. they're classmates, though, and they had just...

linhardt thinks back to mere hours ago, when everything was happening. she held herself so confidently. she hadn't hesitated like he did. she acted; she planned; she was clever and strong, and now... now, like then, linhardt is burdening her.

"i... appreciate it," they manage. it's not easy to talk. they feel so overwhelmed. even now, they can hear all the conversations going on in the rest of the room, but they can't understand a word.

"but... s-surely i'm not the worst one off... you can - i'll be fine. just give me a..."

lies, aren't they? all lies. will he ever be fine again? he tries to look at her, but he just manages the floor. his hands. his fingers, mud still under his nails.

"i... hate fighting," they confess, as though it's a secret, as though they haven't told anyone who would listen any time it comes up. they love to complain, normally, but this isn't a situation they can ever enjoy.

"and the... the blood."

reflexively, he shivers. his hand doesn't have blood on it, dirty as it is, so at least he can look at that.

[senerist]

[ TEDDY BEAR ] Forge-A-Bear was kind enough to donate a platoon of button-eyed teddies to adopt and love. Are you and your partner ready for that kind of commitment?

Featured prominently in the center of the room's many display tables was one overflowing with plush bears of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

It's with an excited quick walk that Celica arrives at the table, picking up a plushie and inspecting it. Its round, soft stomach, floppy overstuffed limbs, and small bead eyes lend a sense of youthful amateurness to the toy, and the character of a childhood friend. She trades the bear for another, a black one with a short, stout body and a red ribbon around its neck. Each bear is unique, slightly different, and each lovable in its own way.

Slightly giddy at the selection, Celica can't help but exclaim to some vague sense of a person standing besides her. "Oh, aren't these stuffies just adorable?" She turns towards them, as if to justify her adoration.

Finally, blessed fuzz is filling in the cracks of soren's brain. What glass is he on? Five? Four? He'll need a few more if he plans to make it through the night unscathed, but the stall in synapses is a welcome feeling for now. Less welcome are the other feelings, taking their place as ruler of soren, without his tight choke-hold of logic to keep them in check.

he's staring at the bears. They're fluffy, and likely very soft. soren expects that should he pick one up in his arms and hug it, it will tickle his brain in the same ways that excuse the search for companionship. he even wonders, briefly, if hugging one through the night would help his sleep problems.

The student's presence beside him is like a foggy specter at the edges of his periphery before she speaks. he'd been aware of her presence, but her words bring his full attention to bear (bear...) the... bear that she shows him.

The 'stuffy' (as she calls it) that she holds is black with a red bow tied around its neck. Instantly, soren's hackles raise. Is this a jab at something? he can think of at least twenty people who might compare the bear's appearance to his own. What kind of game is she playing?

his gaze moves from her to the bear and back, and then repeats this motion another couple of times.

"i'm not much one for 'cute', but... i can certainly see the appeal," he says slowly. "Is the one you're holding your favorite of the bunch?"

[craneswings]

Returning to the bunker with supplies in tow, it was oddly strange how their party was swarmed immediately upon entering. From the way the crowd formed around the supply run group, it was clear that weapons were in short supply. With only a small roll of arrows tucked into her scabbard, Celica manages to slip out of the hubbub of trading and negotiating, quietly making her way to a secluded corner to rest.

It was there that she sees a purple-haired woman approach her, and immediately an odd sensation overcomes her. A sense of déjà vu, accompanied by a strange headache. She looks again at the face, but its memory escapes her. She tilts her head slightly. "I'm sorry... do I know you?"

Seeing how the rest of the surviving party forms a crowd around the remaining few munitions, Yuzu is silently relieved that she had decided to hand out her free materials separately rather than contribute to the horde. She can nearly picture attempting to organize the tomes, only to be surrounded and nearly trampled within a few seconds…

Phew. Well, it is why she shies from the group. Even if her situation of stock is not the most ideal…though at the very least her weapons are still all accounted for. Though in this corner, she doubts any stray extras would be uncovered so easily.

Then her eyes spot a small bunch of arrows encased in a…scabbard? By no means should bow ammunition be secured there, unless the user had somehow lost their quiver. An efficient use of baggage, though in desperate times such as these, the former would be more ideal. More for he-

“I’m sorry…do I know you?”

Yuzu finally takes a look upward rather than at the ground. Of course, that scabbard is attached to another person. But who the Hoshidan sees upon looking up is more surprising - perhaps even more uplifting - than a free bunch.

She never expected to find a familiar face within their temporary shelters, let alone after so much time. Well…this face is not as familiar as her closest friends, but is still enough of an associate nonetheless.

“Ho there, wa- Lady Celica!” It takes Yuzu herself a moment to fully recognize the other, but the crane would never forget a generous benefactor from years past. “My name is Yuzu, and I cry your aid.”

Actually…slow down. Circumstances are not that dire. “Ahem. I merely noticed the small stack of arrows you currently carry. Unless those are needed elsewhere, I believe lending them to me would do well for both of us.”

[pillarofopenness]

[ GOSSIP ] With all these people milling around, there’s plenty of room for discussion… like who would make the most adorable couple? Or, even juicier, who has invisible strings tying them together? Do tell!

She had started to step forward, to intervene before they would come to blows when a shouted word seems to cut through to Berkut, and his shoulders sag, hands clasped around the box. They continue speaking, but the tension between them has dissolved, and Alm soon departs, leaving Berkut standing alone.

Celica doesn't go to Alm immediately. Not yet. She would have time to ask Alm about it later, away from listening ears.

More as an aside than anything, she says off-handedly to the person beside her, a cheerful-looking blonde Lion who also seemed to be watching the exchange. "It's good that they seem to have reconciled at least a bit. I was worried I would have to break up a fight."

Don’t interfere. Solving the conflicts of other worlds for them could disrupt their existence as we know it, if not the existence of all our worlds.

She doesn’t know if that warning still applies in a place like this, or if it everapplied even back home. She doesn’t remember who she heard that from. She doesn’t remember when she heard it, either. Though it’s a warning scary enough to hold back the way her mind screams at her to go help. As it ever does, outside of Zenith.

It’s no surprise she wasn’t the only one relieved to see all that drama amount to nothing in the violence department. Especially considering who the other spectator was in relation to the conflict. Unlike her — as ever the spectator to their story, and nothing more.

A smile takes its place on her face despite the still semi-tense atmosphere, nodding in agreement to the priestess’s words. “Definitely. Parties are no place for fighting, that’s for sure!” 

Sharena laughs, the lighthearted sound starting off strong, but slowly fading to awkwardness as her gaze shifts over to one of the now-broken cages from a previous ‘game’. 

“…Though I don’t know if everyone here would agree with that.”

[nabataprophet]

It was not the first time that Celica had seen dark magic used, she had certainly encountered — and endured — her fair share of dark magic. However, the battle yesterday had been the first time she had seen it used so close, and by an ally. It had been surprising when the reserved manner of the girl had made way for the terrifying power that she had used to defend their unit.

Waiting for the small gathering of friends and allies to disperse from concerned check-ups with the cloaked mage, Celica finally found a moment to approach.

"Apologies, but I would like to thank you for your efforts during the battle. Had you not been there, we surely would have been overrun from the rear and felled."

"My name is Celica, from Valentia." She gave a small curtsy. "And you are?"

The girl with hair like flames returns to Sophia's field of vision. Under the light of day, the color is much softer, a more subdued hue than the fires that had emblazoned off in the distance. It's a less intense color than a shade of red that lives fondly in her memories, but still comforting in its own right.

"No..." Sophia shakes her head. "It was your quick thinking... that saved us. If you hadn't suggested... using that thing to cross the river... we wouldn't have made it in time. If we tried to cross as is..."

We might not be here, is the implication.

She curtsies back, but it looks much more clumsy, speaking to the action being unfamiliar.

"Celica... My name... Sophia. I am... a priestess... from the Nabata Desert."

[party-pri3st]

nyehehe

sorry to inundate you with mistletoe asks but not sorry

🎄

And, by the grace of the Divine One themself - another familiar face! "Lady Celica!" Pandreo cries, face alighting. He's swept up in the reminiscence of her power running through his veins, her memories and experiences guiding his hand in the most terse moments of the war. Oh, it's so wonderful to see her smile, to behold her majesty again, and -

Wait.

Pandreo had known Emblem Celica. Ostensibly, only a fraction of Lady Celica's legacy, a sliver of her soul.

She would not remember him.

He clears his throat just as she looks his way. If she is confused, she's gracious about it.

Pandreo bows, half reverence and half apology. "It's an honor. Uhm." There's nothing for it; he falls to a kneel, kissing the back of her hand. If she's truly appalled, there's probably a mistletoe close enough by to play it off.