#event;birthday2024

[frauleindermorgen]

Upon her doorstep, small box, unlabeled- though perhaps she may easily guess as to the sender. Anonymity was not the goal, rather, it was to not take credit for ideas that were not entirely his.

Inside, a small wooden bird, carved carefully in the shape of a mutual friend. Perhaps to be used as a paperweight, or for its chiseled beak to lift forever towards the sky as decoration.

When she opens her door next it is not Pelleas she finds but a mysterious gift. The box is white and unaddressed but she picks it up gently, in any case, lifting the lid. She is met with two darling black beads for eyes and she almost expects the imitation of her friend to chirp. There is no doubt in her mind now that this was indeed meant for her and putting the box back down she lifts the wooden bird out of its wrapping and fits it in her hand.

A wave of nostalgia hits her at the feel. He truly has made it perfect despite that Yune not being his own. Ever-changing, mischievous, with a thousand faces but a single smile that was the goddess they both knew and loved.

It was easier to accept that now, after seeing this; after having been given this gift. She wonders... when his birthday if, and if returning the gesture would only hurt. Still, she sings -

She hopes her feelings get across. That the language does not hurt but heal as it should. There are still so many cracks between them but Micaiah would never turn away an extended hand and she remembers how they walked side by side in that Tower. One day, maybe they can do it again.

[frauleindermorgen]

@pirrhyc sent:

Pelleas arrives at Micaiah's dorm room in the dead of the night, fresh off the boat that had ferried him back to Fódlan and then the carriage ride that had taken him back to Garreg Mach. He considers knocking on her door but then remembers the hour, settling instead for leaning against her door and waiting for a more normal hour to try, not disturbing her sleep. But in the end, he finds he dozes off. When the morning comes and she inevitably goes to open her door, the force of what he had been leaning against being taken out from behind him sends him careening back, jolting him awake as he unceremoniously flops onto the flooring of her room, staring up at her with now wide eyes and hair splayed on the ground beneath him. The suddenness of it robs him of his thoughts briefly, but after a moment, he clumsily speaks the first thing on his mind. “ I've missed you, Micaiah. ” A beat passes and a realization hits him however, and he begins to add onto that, pulling himself up off the ground as he speaks. “ S-Sorry, this was a bit, uh, strange, wasn't it? I know I was gone a lot longer than I told you though I would be. My apologies. I didn't mean to, I swear... Though I guess my word only means so much now, doesn't it? ” Upright and fussing with the hair at the nape of his neck, he gives her a sheepish smile, trying to figure out his words. “ In any case, I'm glad I finally got here in time. Now that we're both here together, happy birthday, Micaiah. ”  He takes out the wrapped present box he had tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket and holds it out to her. Inside is a nondescript looking journal, but when one opens it, it is filled margin to margin in Pelleas's own handwriting. “ I know you seemed pretty interested in my cooking before, so I wrote down every recipe I've learned growing up and here at the monastery. I tried to suit them to your tastes though. I know we're not exactly the same, hahaha... There's a few recipes there for remedies too rather than meals. Growing up, I was pretty sickly, so I tried a lot of different things to help me. I don't know if you'd need them, but I figured you might just want to know them still, arrogant as that might make me. ” Micaiah knows plenty on her own that he's certain she didn't need his experiments and knowledge to get by just fine. She endeared people to her and could always learn no matter where she went.

But anything to get her to need to use Sacrifice a little less, just the same as she wished him to exhaust himself a little less too. It is just as much for the sake of those she wishes to heal as well as for her sake for survival in the long-term. She would live a long time regardless, but a part of him hoped to preserve her lifeline for as long as it might go. “ That way, even after I'm long gone one day, you'll still have me. When you help people, I want to be by your side. I want to feel as if I'm helping you and them both, Micaiah. ”  A lifeline that, if everything went as it ought to, would far outlive his own. “ ...Might I? ”

In general, Micaiah is not used to nearly tripping over other people; much less people right outside her bedroom door, and certainly not her rather tall fiancé.

She wants to sternly remind him he has a key for a reason, but having just averted disaster and with him looking up at her like that she finds she rather does not have it in her. She had missed him too.

“It’s alright,” Micaiah says, sitting down next to him once he’s righted himself, “for everything,” she adds, “after all, I trust you.” 

She accepts the present with a smile, beginning to open it up just as Pelleas starts in on explanations - a routine she can say she loves just as much if not more than his thoughtful gifts.

“Every single one?” She marveled. “I knew you had an impressive memory, but this goes beyond that. Some of these surely you had to have come up with on your own…”

Micaiah’s writing is detailed and intricate because she has had so many years of practice inscribing with the ancient tongue and modern alike; she knows it was not the same for Pelleas. It is for this reason every one of his messages he has penned to her is a gift she has kept to this day.

“We both have talked of our faults but this is hardly arrogance,” she says gently, and then he continues on as if having looked into her heart:

even after I'm long gone one day, you'll still have me

She nods rapidly once she realizes he’s turned it into a question, not trusting herself to speak. They want the same thing after all - they’ve always seemed to, just never knowing how to express it.

She sets the journal aside gently and falls into his arms: “of course, I want you with me. Always.”

She may not have had wings on her back but she imagines if she did, they would feel like the weight of that word. There were so many people Micaiah would never let herself forget - Pelleas chief among them.

It was alright if she couldn’t fly, she’d learned to love this small center of gravity all her own.

“Thank you, Pelleas,” she says, content to say in his embrace so long as he is holding her there, “it is a wonderful gift.”

[frauleindermorgen]

"Micaiah, Micaiah!" Yunaka grins as she quickly scampers her way over to the white haired maiden. "Happy birthday!"

Seizing an opportunity she never would have had on the Somniel, she quickly throws her arms around her and gives her a hug. Just a short one! Obviously, she doesn't want to be weird or scare the Maiden That Isn't Her Maiden.

"Hey, here, I got you this!" The cupcake even comes in a cute little box with a window, so it was all nice and safe but you could still get a look at how cute it was! There was even a tiny little candy bird sitting on top of the light blue icing. "I didn't make it myself, obviously. It wouldn't be half as good if I tried to make it, but..."

She holds it out for her to take with a grin. "Hope you like it!"

Micaiah is always glad to meet others on her walks, any day, of course, but especially on a day like this that can only happen at a place like Garreg Mach; for it to be Yunaka, is even more unique. Had she read in the bulletin of her birthday? She must have, but it seemed right for her to know. No longer do cloudy feelings fill her mind as she finds herself accepting the hug and the gift soon after. Once, Micaiah would have run from sudden friendships and intimacy—expected that they came at a cost far too high, but Yunaka’s flaws, the little she knows of them, match well against her own and she knows better now why one might seek a mirror in another.

“It looks delicious,” Micaiah says truthfully, looking down at the box in her hand with a smile, “thank you so much. I can have it with my tea this afternoon.”

She giggles, unsure if Yunaka’s emphasis on her cooking ability is modesty or truth but she is sure eventually she will learn; “did you buy it in town then? You must show me the shop! I always like to mill about down there in my free time, perhaps soon we can go together.”

[frauleindermorgen]

@justices-blade sent:

Time on the run means beggars can't be choosers— But with both feet firmly on the Monastery flooring now, days passing as peacefully as he's known them, that's no longer the case. This may be no land of milk and honey, rife with its own struggles, but being able to choose between the whole wheat bread with the sunflower seeds and the white fluffy loaves cut into slices in the morning is a luxury he scarce would have thought of just years before.

Edward likes the meat pies, hearty things, or nutty pastries— Though, those are hearty too, aren't they? Micaiah knows he likes those, too, her watching him just as he watches her; Or maybe she just knows, as she tends to know. He doesn't mind. He doesn't mind, especially not when it comes in the form of skipping to the cafe, or sharing meals, or being presented with a delicious birthday cake. He reads Nolan and Leonardo's letters, too, combing through the words, watches Sothe slink off with his lunch trays. Watching, learning about all of them, really, how peacetime makes them soft. He turns the people he loves about in his hands, in his mind, and they continue to glisten in ways he's never known, in ways he will continue to love.

So what does she like? He's known a lot of things about Micaiah, the first frissions that appear in her composure, the things that make her laugh, where she likes to linger when she's tired or, the way she gives and gives and gives, always. But what's her favorite flower, animal, food?

Maybe he has a good idea of the latter, at this point. In the kitchens, the smell of butter, olive oil and garlic fills the air as Edward tilts a hot pan, shifting its contents, idly sucking a burn on his ring finger. Tomatoes and onions slosh in response, behind him at the ready: Basil, thyme, cheese... He's no master chef, but he's picked up one or the other thing, and he's not too chicken to scoot out of his comfort zone. Give him a moon, and he's sure he'll be frying with the best of them.

Another burn (hot!), an eager invitation and a hand playfully tugged along later, there's oodles of noodles stir-frying alongside the sauce, finally poured—carefully, don't smear it—into a shallow bowl to serve, garnished a pinch of shredded leaves, basil stuck alongside. Edward steps back, observes his work— And grins. Looks delicious. Smells delicious. He sneaks a noodle from the main pan. Tastes delicious! That's right, take that, a measly few bowls of pasta could never defeat him! Plates are piled along his arms, secure despite everything, spiriting the dishes out of the kitchen and onto the table in front of Micaiah.

Knowing her, she might have seen this coming. Even if she hadn't, she probably smelled it. He hopes the star-shaped novelty noodles still delight her.

Honestly, he just hopes-knows she'll like it, and he can make it better every next time he does this.

A salad bowl's the final dish placed before he flings his arms up, cheering. "Happy birthday!!!"

Micaiah spends the morning of her next birthday early outdoors (and for once next is a word she thinks of with deferential wonder rather than terror; for these celebrations Fodlan have given her ground her in even the sharpest of this land’s terrors), reading in the greenhouse and out in the courtyard

(Inside her satchel is a carefully wrapped journal she looks at throughout the day, copying from it into her own notes. Other books brought with her are ones from the library on plants and stars).

Toward midday the smells from the kitchen have her move closer to the rose gardens. She takes tea there, after having snuck into storage with the key she had from chores that week and if she sees a certain someone along the way, well, he seems happily enough engaged in his work that she doubt he minds.

There are no secrets here, no need for them; queen she may be but without Yune she realizes she is so very human. Just like every other laguz and beorc. She had not thought it a gift at first, but a loss; now, things are different; part of the notes stretched out in front of her are the names and birthdays of her dearest people and she knows she is not the only one who keeps track of such things.

She sighs and breathes deeply of bergamot and thinks of being among and alike.

The sun is her companion as much as ever but she swears the rays shine brighter for her when Edward greets her, the smile of accomplishment on his face is all the gift she’d ever need - but pulled along as she is, her stomach does growl at the clever blend of smells and the chatter of her dearest friend.

“Eat with me,” she insists between a mouthful, it comes out choked (hot! He did so well with the spices, Micaiah was unaware she even liked these but, yes, she loves them), and already there is a glass of water waiting for her. She drinks it down than splashes some playfully Edward’s way.

“Or you can just watch me, I suppose,” she says, taking a smaller bite this time and letting the satisfaction show fully on her face, “but keep me company will you?”

There will be more times like this, in Daien, perhaps not with the same spices (but she will see about talking to Queen Nailah about her stock) and not with the same amount of sun shining through gilded windows but there will be warmth. In the land of snow and crags where they were born Micaiah knows with Edward by her side, there will always be that.

[aurheatum]

@divinecrest: birthday ask

Sitri is seven years old and she's only now learned what a birthday is, which means she's gone seven whole years without celebrating her mother's birthday. It doesn't matter that Rhea didn't know birthdays are a special occasion either, nor that she doesn't seem to mind. Sitri has got to make up for all the years they've wasted. When she makes her way to Rhea's chambers it is with a silver tray in hand, atop which rest a bowl of sliced fruits and a glass of juice, along with toast in a basket and strawberry jam. Lastly, there's a package with a large ribbon. It weighs rather a lot for a little girl, but she's determined to see this through. Her mother's attendants have obligingly not roused her yet, and one of them opens the door for Sitri as well so she can enter with the tray. Afterwards she asks the lady to leave, and she does. This makes her giggle. Mama's attendants are much more tolerant of her being the Archbishop’s darling than those silly nuns. Oh, she's not thinking about that this morning, though. “Good morning, Mama!” She calls cheerfully, leaving the tray on a side table and gripping the package tightly before she bounds to Rhea's side. “And Happy Birthday! Oh, no no no, don't get up yet! You have to stay in bed or it won't be breakfast in bed! Oh, silly Mama, you almost ruined my gift! Alright, just a moment now…” Leaving the package behind, she hurries to fetch the tray and brings it over, though Rhea has to help her get it up there. Well, as long as her feet stay off the ground while she does, Sitri supposes it's fine. She wastes no time kicking off her shoes and taking her place beside her mother afterwards — though she is mindful of the tray —, tucked right against her. “I know you don't care much about your birthday,” she says, “but I do. I wish we'd had a party every year, but well… We didn't know, so — I just have to make your day super duper extra special!” She beams up at Rhea, offering her the package. Inside rests a dark blue scarf embroidered with misshapen stars, and a drawing of Rhea herself with Sitri. Above the drawing are written the words, “For Lady Rhea on the ocasion of her birtday with all my love, from Sitri”. “I'm not very good at knitting,” she prattles on, far too pleased with herself to stop, “and I just started emboi—embroidery, but I did my best. I wanted to write ‘For Mama’ but then I thought someone might see it…” For a brief moment she wilts, though perks right back up as a thought comes over her. “Oh, I cut all the fruit myself! Don't worry, there was always a grown-up watching. I helped make the jam and toast, oh and I made the juice all by myself too!” She giggles, shining with pride, before her head comes to rest against Rhea's forearm, gently and playfully nudging her. “Sooo, what do you think, Mama? I wanted to give you the best day I could, because — well, you're the best.” As giddy as she is, her next chuckle is soft. “I love you lots and lots. I love you like… Oh! I love you more than there are stars in the sky. Did you know that, Mama?”

Rhea sleeps rarely; the bed, like most things in her chambers more for appearances rather than anything substantial.

(The archbishops chambers have changed little since their inception in the Adrestrian style of decor, and Rhea sees little reason for them to do so now.)

But occasionally, she rests; knowing well enough her body needs if even if her mind still roils, it is then she looks up at the hanging ornamentation above her and imagines the galaxies its mandalas are said to invoke; it too, is written to be an artwork of the Empires long past but it is much older. It comes from the time of her Mother.

She tries not to look at it too often, for the memories pile up when she does but it had at least been useful for teaching Sitri the stars (and before that as a mobile).

Alessia, a long time attendant of hers, bids her a blessed morning and Rhea rises into a sitting position to do the same; opting to comb her own hair as she thinks on the day ahead. Saint Seiros Day requires the Archbishop for prayers and blessings and so the archbishop she must become, but something today makes her hesitate.

Sitri barreling into her room (That Alessia, she thinks, fond in a subdued way) takes away her puzzling thoughts and replaces them with warmth. It is rare to see Sitri so early in her day and at first she is worried but even before the child’s words sink in Rhea is comforted by her confident demeanor and dimpled, beaming smile.

She is carrying so much though! Rhea tries to rise to help her with her last package but is chastened by that small voice in tones she know to be remarkably similar to her own. She can only smile, be sued, as Sitri continues to prepare things for her at her bedside.

“Sitri, my love, I bid you good morning - but how long since you slipped out… ah, there is nothing for it thank you.” She says, meaning it, even as *birthday* echos on her head as if an unfamiliar word. She wonders how Sitri learned it? 

Even more mysterious was this breakfast-in-bed but as Sitri seems quite intent on the ritual Rhea can only do her part, making room for both the tray and Sitri herself once the child is ready to take her spot on the bed. 

Sitris explanation is full to bursting as are her emotions and Rhea does her best to accept each one in turn as gently as she accepts each gift. Her hand strokes the scarf still in its package as Sitri tells her about the dedication on it and for a moment as Sitri wilts her hand freezes.

For Mama, to think there is a part of the that wants that.

Again, there is little to dwell on but Rhea does bring Sitri into her arms, seating her up on her lap as they had often done when she was younger. “It's delicious,” she tells her, taking a bite of the dust and then offering some to Sitri, “will you not eat it with me? There is nothing I could desire more on my day of birth.”

They eat and they talk, and for a moment Rhea can indeed imagine a world where once a year waking up like this becomes routine. That this love, growing in Sitri, planted without Rheas knowledge but to her greatest awe, continues to bloom.

(And it does. And it will. Taking over so much, but nothing Rhea would not already give.)

“It has only begun and yet… it is indeed one of the best days I have ever had,” Rhea replies, hoping her smile is a fraction as beautiful as Sitri’s, “and no!” She grins wider. “Every star? Even more than that one, do you remember its name?”

Pushing the tray aside and pulling Sitri close Rhea looks up at the ornamentation above her and points to the mandala of the Blue Sea Star; this time the memories that like up are of Sitri and rather than feeling buried by them Rhea feels bouyed. She thinks she could fly among those stars herself, again.

[aurheatum]

When her birthday comes around, Yuri really does think about. After all, what could one possibly get the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros that she did not already have or could not acquire herself?

Altogether, though, the answer does not take long to come to them, even if they have to laugh at the monk’s evident surprise at the tray in their hands and their request to bring it to the archbishop.

If she removes the cloche sitting atop it, she’ll find a plate of grilled herring and a cup of chamomile tea— both still hot— as well as a small pastry. Tucked under one of the plates is a small slip of paper that reads, ‘Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made my own favorites. Feel free to send your feedback my way. Happy birthday, Lady Rhea,’ all written in a mockingbird’s familiar scrawl.

Saint Seiros day comes around again, as it always does; and as usual Rhea is reminded of it mostly by the change in her rotation of sermons as well as the extra hymnal hour.

The monk that goes over her schedule with her at dawn seems skittish, and Rhea, having little patience for it to today ask for them to just come out with it, please.

She is not expecting a gift to be presented to her with trembling hands, but Rhea takes it steadily with her own; barely hearing the murmurings of the monk beside her.

There are only a few who have been at Garreg Mach long enough to know how to skirt around decorum with ease; even fewer brave enough to do so and as Rhea takes each plate in hand she hardly needs to read the note to determine who this might be from.

Yuri should not have gone to the trouble, but as she bites first into the pastry as she unfurla the note before here she is selfishly glad they did.

She is reminded of gift exchanges past, of wintertide celebrations and smiles. Perhaps Saint Seiros might one day have traditions such as that too, whyever not after all?

For now she is content to take in this new breakfast routine as she plans the rest of her day. She has heard of Yuri’s proficiency in the kitchen, but it is her first time experiencing it herself. It seems even for as someone as old as herself there are still things to be learned.