#brothersword

[thedancingblade-blog]

@brothersword -- cont’d from here.

         “ aye, milord. . .you know my history. or an extent of it -- i’ve seen enough war to last three lifetimes. ” he sounds vaguely miserable when he speaks, eyeing marx from across the room. he stands at post beside the crown prince’s door, arms folded gently. “ i’m rambling,mostly. pay me no mind. ”

[felicecia]

❤

muse interaction hc :: accepting !

  Felicia and Lord Marx would treat eachother with a form of silent respect. While Felicia sees him as this powerful Nohrian figurehead, and the apparent heir to the throne, he would acknowledge her as a steady presence taking care of his little brother / sister.   The pressure of ruling would fill her with awe, and may intimidate her into avoiding him when alone (for fear of messing up in front of the future king – can you imagine?!). Her dedication to Lord Kamui / Lady Corrin, and to properly fulfilling her job regardless of failure, could possibly fuel his determination to try and try again. 

  I believe, with interaction, they could have a mutually beneficial relationship, as they both have things to learn from eachother (Felicia –> bravery when absent from the face of danger, how to keep her bleeding heart from overflowing; Lord Marx –> perseverance in completing a goal and the ability to adapt to any situation that may befall him, how to thaw his front and open up to those that love him). 

[temporsia-blog]

his lips find themselves on laslow's forehead, following his cheeks and lips, large sword worn hands cupping a fine jaw. "laslow, i ADORE you." he murmurs.

            HE’S SWEATING,  unable to find words as he’s kissed on the forehead, taking a moment  &.  and a  DEEP BREATH  before a response is thought.   ‘  a-ah, thank you, l-lord marx…  ’   laslow’s too embarrassed to say much more.

[hexation-blog1]

@brothersword // starter call ( accepting )

‘But promise me this. Come see me before the strain becomes too much to bear.’

That was the warning she heeded to the Prince those days ago. Perhaps they merely faded into nothingness as soon as they left the soothsayer’s lips. Perhaps her words had left some inkling of an impression for Xander to muse on. 

But regardless, instead of following her cautionary words, the eldest prince of Nohr had instead been doing well in digging himself further and further into his own demise. Physical or no. 

Though the might of his blade carving through the night’s air ( during practices he believe to be by himself ) and the tightened muscles that supported every strained ride into battle, every kill, every growing regret, grew in might with every passing day. 

Nyx thought there was little hope for the man. But a single, spontaneous summons certainly caught her attention. It could be nothing, a mere order, a correction, but she was curious to see.

“You summoned me, Prince Xander?”

[darkgodsvessel]

5 times the love

5 times the love drabbles | Just about always accepting 

I- When they meet there’s a sword at his neck, pink and blue hair tickling his nose. He stares at Inigo, the figure looming above him calls the boy “Laslow.” He’s accused of trespassing, of attempting to steal information, silly things he would never do. When he counters that he’s never heard of this Nohr or Hoshido, the figure falters, stares at him like he’s insane. Inigo says nothing. The man, Lord Marx they call him, lets him go free on the condition that he join their army. As he walks away, Rem makes a mental note to prove his worth to Marx no matter what it takes.

II- They spar multiple times, Rem utilizing his smaller size and lack of armor to dodge the heavy sword coming at him from almost all directions. He had to admit, the royal (a fact he had learned after Inigo and the others had caught him up to speed with the situation) was extremely agile for his size and amount of armor. They end the skirmish right before they impale the other, Rem’s dark-magic cloaked hand sizzling before Marx’s chest over his heart and the royal’s sword poking into his stomach. They shake hands admirably and he catches the slightest glimpse of what might just be a smile and he’s stunned, left standing, frozen on the battlefield, his cheeks burning red.

III- He admits to himself that he at least finds the prince attractive if nothing else, huffing indignantly at the fact that he might have developed a little puppy-crush. Going all-out in the next battle, it’s just his luck that Marx finds him clutching his bleeding arm, staggering away from a seemingly invisible enemy. He expects the prince to leave him to die, just collateral damage. Instead, he finds himself seated on the horse in front of the other, pressed against his chest and protected from the buffering winds. Trying to calm his blushing cheeks, Rem found himself despairing that he might have truly and fully fallen in love.

IV- It’s not his best plan by a long shot, but avoiding the lord is all Rem can think to do. If he could just never sees that smile again then perhaps it could sink into his brain that such a love was foolish. What he doesn’t expect is for the prince himself to come after him, to hunt him down and demand to know why he was running away. Mind scrambled in shock, Rem simply lets the words fly. Before he realizes it, “I love you” is hanging in the air between them. Time stopped, but when the prince let out a sigh of relief and kissed him, it seemed to to rush through years of his life, all passing before his eyes. He passes out and they laugh about it when he wakes up with his head in Marx’s lap.

V- Wearing a crown was never something he was prepared to do. But then again, neither was marrying a prince. Arms curled gently around the small bundle in his arms, Rem coos down at his son, barely a few months old. He’s almost the perfect mirror image of Marx, but his hair is Rem’s delicate pink. An arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him into a warm chest. Lips press to his forehead before moving to the tip of his nose and then his cheek bones. A deep laugh greets his ears as baby Seigbert coos softly. This was his family. How he got here didn’t matter anymore. He was here and he was happy.

[thedancingblade-blog]

5 times the love

five times the love.

i.     laslow presents himself with a flourish at the feet of the throne in castle krakenburg. he wears his smile like a smarter man would wear armor – it is bright and polished, perfect and practiced for greeting royalty.

      none of the royalty he greets smiles back, however, but that’s okay. he’s used to frowning princesses. he stands and hums and announces himself. at his back, odin bows and selena rolls her eyes and it all feels so surreal.

      he tells them his purpose – that he is there to bend the knee to prince marx, and prince marx responds by challenging him to a duel. somewhere in his chest, his feroxi blood sings. judgement by combat – prove your worth by your sword.  this, he knows. this, he can do.

      their blades meet – silver to divine – and laslow laughs. the sound bounces in the foyer of the castle, catches on stone and echoes to fill the hall. he laughs, because from where he stands against marx…

the prince is smiling. it is small but it is there, gracing the man’s normally stony expression with a crack of light.

      he loses the match, but marx takes him on as his retainer anyways. his heart is thundering in his ears when it is over, and he believes it is because of the battle until marx casts the smile at him again and the thunder starts again, louder this time.

ii.    routine comes easy to laslow: wake, check on prince marx ( bring him breakfast if he hasn’t eaten yet ), go down to the training grounds. he has more free time than he thought he would initially and his head reels at it. he has plenty of time to steal away and see odin and selena – their friendship does not suffer for their lieges.

      he smiles when he opens the heavy door to the prince’s room and catches him dozing at his desk. the silver tea tray is set on the table and he pulls the soft wool blanket from the bed to drape it over marx’s shoulders.

      he finds himself staring at marx’s face – the lines of stress have smoothed away in favor of sleep, pale lashes fanned against his skin where he rests. laslow smooths the blanket over his shoulders and sighs softly.

            “ rest well, prince marx. ”

iii.    his eyes linger on the blood curling on the high curve of marx’s cheek. the prince doesn’t seem bothered by it as he shouts orders to the men in cyrkensia, shouts orders about moving the people out as the fighting gets worse.

       his legs ache from his dancing and his hands are shaking from the adrenaline beating through his ribs. he thinks of the samurai that tried to cut down his prince, thinks of his helpless he had felt until siegfried had cut through the man, had gutted him to drop him into the clear waters of the opera house.

       the blood is drying on marx’s cheek as he stares and it cracks when marx shouts another order before turning to his retainers. peri is bouncing in the saddle, excitement and bloodlust biting at her sanity, and she howls a laugh when marx tells them to be at his side in the coming battle.

       she is still laughing when she hauls laslow onto the back of her saddle. he is still staring at the red that mars his prince.

iv.    he sits in marx’s tent as the man scolds him for his flirtatious behavior, and he finds himself staring at marx’s face. studying it really, like a scholar with a rare text. there’s no brand signifying his lineage, but there’s also no doubt in laslow’s mind that marx is truly a prince. he carries himself with the weight of every man wearing the nohrian crest.

       laslow does not envy that weight and responsibility. he will do whatever in his power to lessen it for marx’s sake, however. so he does smiles when he asks marx if he would be angry if laslow left. if one day, laslow was naught but a dream stolen away at dawn.

      when marx says that he would not be angry, laslow is surprised when the knot in his chest doesn’t unravel. it comes a little loose when the man – his prince – tells him that so long as he lives, marx will consider him his cherished friend. that so long as he beathes, he will have a place in marx’s heart.

     he almost wants to cry. he doesn’t. instead, he smiles.

v.   he is there when marx is crowned – he smiles at his liege’s side and swears his loyalty to him all over again when it is asked of him. it’s just a formality, of course. marx held his heart no matter if he was a king or not.

     it’s hard to say goodbye – but he doesn’t say it to marx. he bends his head in apology when he bids farewell to his friends. he has a life here that he could never have in ylisse. he asks selena to tell his mother that he’s sorry, and to bid lucina a tearful farewell for his sake as well.

     marx is waiting for him when he returns to the castle. his shoes are stained with mud and there are teas drying on his face, but he smiles when marx brushed the back of his hand across his cheek. 

     he doesn’t say anything when marx leads him inside, but his heart sings – he feels at home, finally.

[bewitchinqs-blog]

                          This is gospel for the VAGABONDS           NE'ER-DO-WELLS and INSUFFERABLE BASTARDS                                       ( Confessing their apostasies )                           Led away by IMPERFECT IMPOSTORS

     Independent Xander, Camilla, Leo && Elise as penned by Roy, Bee && Ike.