to the heavens may you fly || rhys and maria
A small flight of wild wyverns have roosted in the mountains nearby, resting before their next leg in their journey to their wintering grounds in the east. You could observe them from a safe distance and take notes on wyvern behavior and social interactions… but that’s some nerd shit. You’ve heard stories of knights leaping onto the backs of wild stallions and taming them with sheer grit and determination. Would that philosophy work on a wyvern? It’s on you to find out! [grants Flying +1]
Once again, one of Garreg Mach’s whispered rumors had reached Maria’s ears, piece by murmured piece throughout her journeys through the hallways. Wyverns, so agreed the many whispers, roosting in the mountains nearby, albeit only for a while; they would leave in time, once their wings were equal to the winds they soared upon, somewhere away and eastward for the chilly winter months. They were far from home, taking a moment’s respite in a land unknown--
--just like her. The thought lingered in her chest, a funny little weight caught between yearning and anticipation: she wanted-- no, needed to go see them.
She remembered the stories from when she was little, remembered the hours waiting at her window, her eyes darting between the verdant forest beyond and the azure sky above, all the while making ready to welcome home two creatures when only one had left before. It was tradition within their line, an homage to their founder whose name the people once bestowed upon her brother, to venture into the wilds as he had and find their companion there. Michalis would always indulge her with the tale when she asked, his fingers tracing some scar or another as he warned her of how truly fierce wyverns could be (but Lutz, she assumed, was among the fiercest-- he had to be, to be her brother’s partner, despite the way he melted when she scratched under his chin just right); Minerva was much more gentle, more wary in every retelling, her story one of patience and hard-won understanding that matched the temperament of her friend.
Maria, however, knew her story would be far different from both of theirs-- had known since long ago, when she had gingerly held her siblings’ hands and wished away their pains. She would never be a true princess of Macedon, a warrior and a ruler in equal measure, whose dominion reached land and sky; instead, she would be their sister. No, her only wish was to see the wyverns, that was all.
And so she had thought to ask Michalis to come with her to the mountains, to the wyverns, to the Macedon that wasn’t... but he would curl that protective hand around her, to shield her from the world in all its pain and all its wonder, and he would not call it love; he would call it penitence, and through it all, look at her not once.
So instead, she had turned to Professor Rhys, her kind and kindred soul with his dreams of flying and living the world, and he had duly accepted. Like that, the two of them had begun their trek up the mountainside, through fallen leaves and evergreen trees, and though they were a distance so far from home she could not even begin to fathom it, it felt as though she had met Macedon for the first time. The trees were growing fewer and further between, just slightly, and when at last she heard a distant rumble, so faint so as to barely be heard, Maria froze.
“Professor Rhys,” she whispered; she hardly dared to breathe. “Do you think we’re getting closer...?”
