#ignifilis

[ladyleonster]

[ Coffee ]

Lips pucker as the bitter liquid slides down his throat. The mice raved about this coffee, claiming it gave a burst of energy to all who partake. They might certainly need the boost since they're the ones running all over the place, but Azelle can't find the merit in such a drink.

He holds his cup and stands from his seat, intent on returning his barely-used dish to the bar. At least he tried something new! "Hello, Lady Ethlyn!" Azelle pauses in his mission. "Have you tried this coffee? I'm not quite sure I like it."

"You know," Ethlyn hums, "I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it either. It's rather bitter but the smell is heavenly. With enough milk and sugar, I think it could be alright though I don't know what that ratio should be." She has a feeling it's one of those things that is an acquired taste. Something you really have to decide you want to like before you actually do.

"Altena had me try some with her earlier. Have you run into her yet? You can't miss her. She still looks just like her father." There's a part of her that wants to ask after his own kids but, from what she can glean, very few of her brother's followers ended up with a happy ending. A forced ball does not feel like the time to drag up potential unpleasant memories. "Leif, my son, is here too, somewhere."

[lumenfilia]

dead body reported in medbay 

@ignifilis ♡

It’s beneath pale moonlight that she finally dares to push herself up and properly off of the infirmary’s uniform sheets. Not that there was any reason she couldn’t have done so earlier ( likely would’ve been smarter, having someone awake in case shaky limbs choose to betray her, ) but there’s something about the comfort of her lonesome that makes it all that much easier to handle.

No more than two weeks that she had been asleep, and yet it feels like lifetimes. Tailtiu huffs, offloading her weight against the nearest wall. Her legs tremble like a fawn’s, awkward and clumsy beneath her, but she manages a stumbling step forward.

How long has it been now, since last she walked for herself? Even disregarding whatever time spanned between this moment and the last one she recalls being awake for, it had been some while then, too.

Ghosts of armored fingers dig into the skin of her upper arm, sharp and cold and unforgiving. She feels them now just as she had then, feels herself fumble on the next step, feels the world slip away from her for just long enough.

“Ack-”

Of course luck would have it that the cot she stumbles into is perhaps the only other occupied one in the room. Tailtiu’s vision swarms with unwelcome memories as she struggles to right herself, shutting her eyes as though it will banish those thoughts.

Which proves ineffective, since the face of the stranger she has so rudely awakened looks remarkably like Azelle’s. Just as soon as her footing is something like found again, she is recoiling, falling backwards as though struck.

“Sorry- sorry- I...” Oh why had she thought speaking might help? It certainly doesn’t -- her throat tightens with emotions so visceral she thinks they might knock her all the way to the damn floor. “...didn’t mean to...wake you....”

[lumenfilia]

She's the first person he seeks out when he returns to the real world.

There's a vague sense of disorientation dogging his steps, like he's still half-asleep. Illusions are powerful things; preying on the mind until one cannot separate reality from a falsehood.

"Tailtiu!" He cries, spotting her a few yards away. Mere heartbeats pass before Azelle pulls her into his arms. It's the same routine as when they were fighting for their lives during the war, when all they had were stolen moments carved out amidst the chaos.

Old habits don't fade easily.

A kiss is pressed into the crown of her head. "I missed you."

"Ack-!"

She's not even had a chance to think, to be the one to seek him out first. Returning to one's senses after death doesn't get any easier, and she's done it more times than most of the people she knows.

It's a good feeling, though, being crushed to his chest. She would know that warmth anywhere, be able to pick out his flame in a crowd of a thousand. Tailtiu only feigns her distaste, folding arms around him with a lazily masked sigh of relief.

"A little warning next time, alright?" But she's laughing as she says it, the same kind of soft as the fingertips that brush crimson from his forehead.

Mage returns his kiss with her own, pressed to the flush on his cheek.

"I missed you too, silly."

[exclted]

˚ · . @ignifilis asked:

[ Whoops ] + [ Renais ]

Frowning, Azelle stares at his feet, silently mouthing the count of his steps. He'd watched others perform this dance, and it seemed simple enough in theory.

Dancing was most definitely not among his bloodline's many skills.

Nor had he much practice in the art beyond the ballroom waltz every young noble is required to learn. In fact, he had every intention of sitting out most of the dances, more than pleased with the simple fact he's even attending another ball.

Yet something drove him up onto the floor--his new lease on life, most likely. And now he finds himself barely keeping up with the steps, face pink with effort and the distinct feeling everyone's watching him.

"One, two, three, one, two..." He stumbles on that last one, shoulder knocking against his partner's as he rights himself. "Oh! I'm so sorry; please forgive me. Are you alright?"

Two kindred souls in their lack of elegance, they are.

The whirl of faces is anxiety inducing enough as it is. Lucina's only ever felt good about her steps when not worried with the thoughts of the stranger opposite her. A feat that is impossible to achieve unless, of course, she dances with someone familiar.

Which this man is not, but at least they're both nervous.

So when he stumbles, Lucina's first thought it not to grimace but to sigh her relief for the fact that it had not been her. The stranger bumps against her, footing lost, and in the rush of impulse made so familiar by the thrum of war, Lucina reaches to help right him.

There isn't even time enough to catch the color that blossoms along her vine as her hand catches his, the still-moving tide of dancers demanding that they both be swept back along.

"I'm fine," she reassures, expression perhaps a touch too serious for the lively environment around them, "we're just fortunate neither of us hit the ground."

She's sustained enough bruises for one night.

[lumenfilia]

˗ˏˋ꒰ @ignifilis asked:

Over the course of their recovery, he'd begun to feel like he was missing something. Normalcy--for what else can he call this new reality--brought with it an acute awareness of the mundane. Little things, like hanging his cloak in a wardrobe instead of folding it inside a pack, remind him of all the things he'll no longer take for granted.

A week before her birthday he solves his quiet little mystery. His left hand feels lighter, has since he awoke in the infirmary. The gold band is just another casualty of war left behind in the tumult. Azelle isn't sure when he lost his ring, though he gets the faint impression it was after his imprisonment. Logically, he believes it to be similar circumstances for her own empty left hand, though he'll never ask in favor of avoiding awful memories.

He finds her in the late afternoon, when the setting sun lines the world in shades of blinding gold. "There you are, Tailtiu," he says, already reaching for her. A hand finds her own and he gently tugs her closer, joined hands held aloft between them. "I have a gift for you."

There is no snow-covered balcony, nor is there a celebration a ball room away, yet a wave of deja vu overtakes him when he pulls a golden band out of his pocket. He will always firmly believe she deserves something more ornate than a plain metal circle. This time, the center of her ring forms an elegant twist, a small diamond cradled in its center.

"Happy birthday, my love," he murmurs, sliding the ring onto her finger. His thumb smooths over the jewel, gaze searching her face.

The last time her birthday had passed, Tailtiu hadn't known it.

It's a nearly out of body experience to see it on her own calendar, a date left blank amidst her otherwise cluttered schedule. She hadn't forgotten it, no, just... hadn't exactly remembered it either.

She could wonder for what day it had been in that last, miserable year of her life -- decide if it had been one on which Hilda spared her or demanded more, or if that bitch of a woman had even known it had passed at all.

But she doesn't, or tries not to. Those memories never come with anything good, only quicken her breaths and make the world feel far away.

As it does now, while her fingers tap on the stone top of the railing she leans against. The sounds of students shuffling to their dorms for the evening, of birds returning to begin the day's final song... it is all background to her. Distant, not quite real.

And then comes he who can bring it all back to center with only the sound of her name.

Tailtiu turns her head, eyes refocusing as he makes his approach. Her back straightens, the rhythm of her fingers stalls, and just like that she is swept into him.

"For me? What's the occasion?" But the joke is halfhearted, her eyes affixed on her fingers within his own.

And that's when she realizes that something cool presses to the palm of her hand. It had been such a familiar feeling, the presence of his ring in their every touch, that she had forgotten it wasn't supposed to be there.

Eyes dart to his face, searching it. He's smiling, the bastard, and it's in that kind and genuine way that only Azelle could ever seem to master. Tailtiu wills her heart to still. "You didn't..."

The ring around her finger now is still the one he gave her that night, dingy now with time and abuse and death, but when next she looks down it has been replaced.

Tears well in her eyes before they can be helped. "Azelle," like she's ready to scold him, to yell at him, to call him stupid and this gesture dumb and to stomp off in a flustered fit the way she would have when they were kids.

But instead, she just laughs. It's a soft and quiet thing, like chiming bells on a warm Spring's wind -- full of sadness and joy and love. The end of one thing and the beginning of another in its place.

This time, they'll get to do it all right.

"I liked the old one just fine," she teases, fingers squeeze around his, "but, hey, at least we match again."

[ladyleonster]

He won't admit it to anyone, but he's grateful for the respite the med tent allows. Too many memories are vying for his attention for him to focus on anything intricate like combat.

Now, after some minutes spent in the care of a nurse, Azelle has shaken off some of his earlier distress. He thinks he may have jumped into fighting too soon after processing everything he's endured.

But if not now, when? In a semi-controlled environment, when everyone knew this was merely an exercise in testing their skills, no true harm can come from it.

He's roused from his thoughts when his wandering eyes land on a familiar face. They hadn't spoken much, but he remembers her kindheartedness well. There hadn't been time to properly mourn her when Azelle had reached Phinora Castle with the rest of the army.

"Hello, Lady Ethlyn." Despite the frequency of the occurrence, he doesn't believe he'll ever quite get used to speaking with those he once thought lost forever. "I didn't know you were here as well."

Her name is called out and she is pretty sure she recognizes the voice. A voice that, if she's right, she hasn't heard in years. Pink eyes follow the sound to its source and her whole face lights up when she sees him.

They hadn't spoken as much as she'd have liked during their time under Sigurd's banner--he always seemed so quiet and shy. But it hardly matters, Azelle's is another friendly face she had lost now found. With Sigurd here now too, it almost feels as though it's possible that their whole merry little band might be together again one day.

"Azelle? It's really you!" Ethlyn laughs as she puts an arm around the mage's shoulder and pats him on the back. "I've been here, ah, awhile now but, Baldr, it's wonderful to see you again. Sig just got here too, have you seen him yet?"

[disgracedvessel]

He thinks he's in another nightmare upon first glance.

The trembling begins on his next breath, followed by his heart pounding against his ribcage. Faded scars start to ache with phantom pain.

Shaking hands rise--either in self defense or pitiful supplication, he can't tell--and he wills himself to wake up. But the longer he stares at the boy a few paces away, he remembers this is no nightmare.

Afternoon sunlight illuminates the courtyard. Distantly, as if through water, he can hear the chatter of students released from classes. It brings Azelle back to himself in pieces. Hands lower. He swallows.

Another look reveals a brand on the boy's forehead. Azelle nearly collapses under the weight of his relief, that it's not Arvis come to find him. (His heart aches. He does miss his brother, prays that in this strange land, they may one day find some reconciliation.)

A different matter for a different time. He clears his throat once more. "Are you the son of Arvis?"

Julius has found himself lingering around the classrooms lately, just outside of their doors to catch snatches of the lessons he would otherwise insist on not needing. The past months have awakened - or rather, reawakened a slumbering interest in staves. Fódlan, however, does not have such objects (and indeed if it did, Julius would have mastered them all by now, just as their use had come naturally to him back home), so he listens and studies in secret.

Standing just off to the side of the Black Eagles classroom, half-leaning against a stone column with his hands behind his back as he concentrates on the quiet words of the lecturer within, he becomes suddenly aware of a pair of eyes watching him. He straightens his back slowly and shifts his attention toward the courtyard behind him without yet looking over his shoulder. They were awfully persistent, whoever they were, staring for so long without doing anything, and Julius has little patience for waiting. He eventually turns halfway to comb the yard with his eyes.

A man with hair as red as his own waits nearby, and were it not for the anxiety that blanched his face, Julius might have thought he resembled his father somewhat. With shorter hair and a less imposing figure, of course. With the lecture now long-forgotten, Julius gives the man another minute to make his move before accosting him himself.

He clears his throat to speak and Julius raises his brows with interest, turning the rest of the way to meet him.

What a coincidence that this man would mention his father, too. Julius instead narrows his eyes and examines this face that is far too familiar to belong to a stranger. Everyone in Jugdral wanted the tyrannical Prince Julius dead; he couldn’t take his chances.

“Do I know you?” he asks over the other’s question.

[serraic]

@ignifilis

“Hark! Hark, I say! No, no, down here!” If the sight of a ragged white horse grazing in the middle of the forest doesn’t grab your attention, the voice that calls from the bottom of a pit sure does. A tall man with tousled blue hair winces as he waves at you, claiming to have broken his leg when he fell into this *dastardly* trap. “I, King Sigurd of Grannvale, humbly request thine aid! Know that thy kindness today will reward thee handsomely in the years to come!” [Grants Faith +1]

It’s a beautiful day! The wind is blowing, the birds are singing, and what Serra wants, most out of everything, is a walk outside of the monastery halls. The monastery’s good, and all — beautiful — and she’s often in awe of the architecture, but... everyone needs fresh air at some point, don’t they? Well, Serra certainly does, anyway. So she picks the first person she sees — tall-ish, red hair, all warrior-and-strong-looking, and she sticks her finger straight at them.

“You! Yes, you! I’m Serra. Lady Serra, to you, probably. I need an escort. I’m going on a walk, outside of the monastery, and my usual escort is... well... indisposed, as of late. So you’ll be accompanying me! Thank you!”

She loops an arm around his, and begins to lead the way, without waiting for any dissent.