#benediikta

[endaether]

@noctalaethra , @benediikta and @deathsmaidens all out here triggering his mommy issues

[telmn-a]

𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐎

@benediikta asked: there's no other way.

"𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍' 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 sated?" So brutal a question, but so genuine all the while. For who to know better the liberation she seeks out than the very man that raised her from perdition. A helping hand, once---now he is the ire in her eyes, the buffeting against her wings. She is a slipstream, o'tempestuous force. An unyielding whirlwind with a bite so unforgiving. He saw the potential in her, ambition-laden bones beneath the weight of desperation. But he knows more of what she seeks. Not to simply be safe, to have a place to return to. Above all else, Garuda's dominant wishes for freedom. Free of the shackles of duty && free from the bindings wrought of mortality. How fitting a fate that the eikon of wind makes a home in her bones. The furrow in his brow is one born not of irritation, but instead it comes from his wisher's heart. He wishes she'd break free of a crazed king, he wishes she'd set forth on those wings && fly away from her chains, he wishes... he wishes--- "There's always another way.. always 'as been. But yer no less scared today than back then." Oh, dreaming man---fingertips upholding the squall. How desperate you try to reach for the past, for what once was. For what could've been.

[andherae]

* / 𝘈𝘙𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘊𝘈𝘐𝘜𝘚'𝘚 𝘛𝘠𝘗𝘌?

❝ milady of the royal intelligencers is very certainly someone i would be honoured to share a spar with & later go on a flight. ❞

he's playing double speak here, to be quite honest. perhaps this is what they call ‘diplomacy’.

[levinway]

She would consider herself more of a pretty bird than a wet cat

      “ a pretty wet bird indeed. ”

[telmn]

something feels wrong. it's as if there's been a shift in the wind. it blows colder than before, and she feels it deeply, though it hardly shows upon her face. she felt it before they all turned in for the night. through the deliberations and heated banter, they all part, save for benedikta, who catches him down the hallway.

❝ cidolfus… ❞ it falls so softly from her lips, free of venom that would later poison her tongue. then, there it is; that uncertainty, that unease, that desperate feeling reaches the hazel light in her eyes. it would mark the second time he had seen her look frail, her wings already wrapping themselves around her heart… and it would be the last time he'd witness the emotion in her eyes, screaming loudly in the silence that held them.

please…

𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙙.

when     a     man     is     stripped     bare,     cut     to     the     bone     in     ideological     clash,     what     is     left     behind     is     only     his     conviction.     tidings     of     the     heart     —     threads     pulled     taut,     thousand     sulfur     conflict     amidst     sinew.     his     morals     beget     decision.     decision     begets     choices.     &&     choices     are     manifested     in     step.     the     rattling     in     his     chest     from     a     ragged     breath,     lungs     charred     by     poor     decisions     he     can’t     undo.     much     like     the     blood     on     his     hands,     marring     his     conscience.     day     after     day     at     the     will     of     a     mad     king.     for     cid     is     nothing     if     not     loyal,     but     he     is     no     mindless     hound.     the     heart     that     pounds     thunderously     in     his     chest     is     that     of     summer     nights.     the     tellings     of     chance,     the     desperation     for     something     better     for     the     people     of     waloed.     &&     yet,     he     is     not     so     naive     to     believe     those     days     within     his     reach.     moreover     that,     were     he     to     linger     in     these     stony     walls     that     run     dark     &&     cold,     it     could     be     attainable     before     his     dying     breath.     

but     there     must     be     change     for     second     chances.     

he’ll     leave.     not     because     there’s     desire     to     be     away     from     familiar     lands.     not     because     his     heart     does     not     waver     &&     weep     at     the     thought     of     leaving     her     behind.     but     rather     —     because     he     wants     to     free     those     who     mean     most     to     him.     &&     to     feel     the     wind     against     his     back     in     its     willed     plea.     sweet     utterance     to     namesake,     desperation     plucking     at     the     hairs     roused     at     neck’s     nape     ;     there’s     almost     hesitation.     almost     a     change     of     heart.     but     she’s     not     strong     enough     to     follow     him.     not     steeled     of     mind     yet     enough     to     believe     leaving     this     life     behind     could     just     as     well     save     her.     too     afraid     of     being     alone,     heart     to     be     bittered     by     his     leaving     –     he’s     sure     of     it.     &&     though     it’s     the     swell     in     his     breast     that     comes     full     the     crashing     wave     of     guilt,     it’s     that     self     -     same     conviction     that     keeps     his     eyes     ahead.     

❝     off     t’bed     with     you,     pretty     bird.     ❞     &&     here,     he     finally     allows     himself     to     look     upon     the     somber     sight     of     her.     it     shakes     his     resolve,     but     he     stands     tall.     ❝     tomorrow’s     another     day.     ❞

a     day     you’ll     have     to     find     your     own     way     forward.     because     he     wouldn’t     dare     risk     her     safety     for     chance.     

[telmn]

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝.

@benediikta asked: She's been at Cidolfus' bedside since Eva brought him to rest in this small recovery room. Though a caretaker she is not, Benedikta was insistent in watching over him and knew well enough certain methods from what seem to be part of past life now; before the Chief Intelligencer, even before Garuda stirred within her ribcage. But, there was only so much she could manage when sleep pulled at her demanding a necessary relief. She would meet it halfway, bringing in a pillow and pulling up a chair as a trifling solution. She holds that posture now as she settles near him. ❝ I suppose I should be relieved you still sleep. That way I cannot hear you say 'I told you so'. ❞ Melancholy smile twitches at the corner of her lips, somber furrow of her brow follows. She gazes upon him before resting her head against the cushion and reaches out to hold his hand, her thumb brushing along his knuckles. ❝ But I need you to wake up… ❞ comes the soft whisper, ❝ so I can tell you you were right and I see the smug look on your face that I loathe so much. ❞ An amused hum, but eyelids become too heavy to keep open and it isn't long before slumber finally seeks to claim her.

𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄. In his dreams, he is on a distant shore. In his dreams, there are no more battles to be waged. None go hungry, none lay idle in sickness; the pain && anguish && misery he has long since fought to ease doesn't exist. In his mind's eye, there is peace as best it may come to be. For he's no fool to believe that mankind is anything but callous && coarse to the bone. Where the sinew makes a home && slips across knuckles that bind in a knotted fist. Or the way jaws go tense at the sight of a bearer. Perhaps even the desperation of a man stripped of his freedom. In his dreams, she is free. Wings on the wind---no longer clipped && held beneath boot. No chains to bind her to the will of another && nothing to bloody her ledger. There's liberation in every aspect of his life that he holds so near && dear. Could she ever come to terms with the reality that he has wanted only the best for her since that fateful day? What of the pendant he bestowed to her those years ago? Or the way she looked upon him in pleading when he was stolen away by the ambition in his heart && the desire to be more than a pawn.. no longer the bootlicker for The Mad King. Lord Commander, no more. She is free. They are free. The world is of equal measure to good && bad. Balanced, as all things should be. Which could come as no surprise when the time comes that rest leaves him. He is no longer bound to a slumber that serves its purpose of tending to a mortal wound, unable to heal by the will an eikon. There is ache, resonating pain, && yet all the same there is gratefulness to be alive. Though Cidolfus was more than willing to die for his goals, give his life to the cause, the humanity in him longed to see the day that he might turn his head upon linens && see Benedikta there. Willfully present in the same space, tucked close && safe. He ignores the pain welling within him. Pushes through the stiffness so that fingertips might gingerly brush along the bridge of delicate nose. && he smiles.

[liightbringr-archived]

𝐭𝐥𝐨𝐳: 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬.

@benediikta asked: ❝ why do i so often taste this sense of loss? ❞

"𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒, 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘, 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋." It's such a bitter truth on the tip of her tongue. Where their eyes follow the ridgeline && the impending storm therein. It builds && builds on the horizon, no doubt traversing this domain from the grand sea. But where its winds might fill the sails of ships, it does little in the way of progression for her company. If aught at all, it serves only to feed the ire of tempestuous she. But if any might know well the plight of the weary, it's Evangelique. A woman who came to this land with only a name && a language that none knew. Not even clothes on her back when she washed ashore in Waloed. She still distinctly remembers maternal touch that guided her to a warm bath && a meal thereafter. The woman was so gentle. Which is a trait that she reflects now in the way lithe touch rises to gingerly befall the space between Benedikta's shoulder blades. It is neither unsure or overly confident. The grace of touch is one that is calculated && systematically constructed---brought into this plain of existence && imposition so that it might be genuine. A wholeness within that surety residing midst wondrous blues. A momentary glance that is given to her company falters to the line roaring falls just beyond where they stood. "We learn much from loss. Most important of all, we learn just how strong we truly are. When the wolves are at our door, backs against the wall, what rises from that loss? You learn from your losses.. or you will be snuffed out." Her hand remains whilst her gaze looks to Benedikta now. "In spite of all you have endured, you still yet stand before me. The heart that beats in your chest. The wind in your lungs. The hum of the earth beneath your feet. In spite of your loss.. would you not count these as small victories? Never take for granted the life around you. Not when the wind knows you by name, dear Benna."

[holyguardian]

❝ only blood can pay for blood. ❞

ASOIAF: Sword of Storms starters.

Those were the words of a woman scorned. Words that, unfortunately, Aerith couldn't fully understand. She had never been so deeply wronged, never had to face the cold reality of a loved one paying a blood price.

"Is there truly no other way?" Perhaps she was a voice of naivety, childlike in these cruel Northern lands.

"If blood is the only price, how many lives will be enough? How many would you leave standing? Is the child to blame for the sins of their parents, or the servant for their master?... I don't think blood always has to be the answer."