“ what? coconut, what’re you talkin’ about? ” a hand which grabbed his arm brings him to a halt. there’s words of reprimand coming from her --- ‘too harsh’ and ‘too mean’ coming from a girl that failed to say what he needed, that failed to try and stop a boy from granting an enigma a vessel. complaints from a girl that could do nothing but ramble in a panicked voice telling sesame what to do. that’s rich, richer than he was! “ you weren’t the one to get that bug boy to listen. ” anger hinted in his voice, perhaps a little too much. “ all i said was that he had the choice on whether or not he wanted to. are you gonna tell me that he doesn’t get to have that? ”
No one in Alster expected a messenger from the Emperor. He arrives suddenly, near the break of dawn, astride a white horse. When it slows to a canter, the messenger keeps his hood drawn over his head. He carries no missive from the emperor, but bears a seal signifying Emperor Arvis did indeed send him, and he refuses to say no more than two words to any other than Lord Blume.
Lord Blume is major blooded, his attunement to thunder magic second to none, or perhaps second only to his oldest: Ishtar. The ways of the castle have instilled in the staff a wariness whenever they interact with him. The messenger should know that less than one blow of Mjolnir might end his life, but he subtly shows a casualness that onlookers fear may be insulting.
The messenger is granted a room to stay the night, out of courtesy, before he presumably returns to Belhalla with whatever answer Emperor Arvis would be given. He doesn’t stay in it, though. He roams the castle, still with his hood up, and still with a sword strapped to his side. The staff gossip about him and his insolence, but as the Emperor’s guest, no one dares treat him poorly. Most people don’t.
❝ Excuse you!! ❞ A woman nearly catches him as she bursts from a heavy door. He extends one hand politely, ready to stop her from falling should she consider stumbling, but she prefers to gather herself on her own, and glare directly at him with a gaze that normally shrinks strangers. ❝ What are you doing in my house, skulking around like that?! ❞
The messenger smiles that she doesn’t recognize him. He speaks honestly, fully convinced she won’t catch on any time soon if she hasn’t caught on by now. ❝ I’m looking for Lady Tailtiu. Word was that her brother is housing her. ❞
Hilda pins a fake smile on her face and runs her fingers through her hair. ❝ No… That girl is no longer a Friege. Perhaps you should try Silesse, sir. That’s where all the outcasts were hiding from the Empire. If you hurry she may even still be alive. ❞
❝ Don’t lie to me, Hilda. ❞ He came from Silesse, as one of those very same outcasts. She doesn’t know who he is, so she can’t know that. She can’t know that he carries a pendant close to his heart, identical to one she wears close to hers, so that even through the months and miles, they never needed to be apart at all. She can’t know he already knows so much about her.
Years ago, he’d already known what she started in the Friege household, back when Duke Reptor was alive to love both his children equally. He felt powerless to stop it, then. Things were different now.
❝ How dare you – you will address me properly, or I’ll have you removed at once!! ❞
The last time he saw Hilda was at a fancy party. She was trying to convince every one that she was actually a cousin to House Velthomer – far closer than she actually was. She was always doing things like that. She has minor Fjalar blood, too, but she could never feel another’s. …That may help, here.
Finally, he draws the hood from his head. ❝ Just tell me where she is, ❞ Azelle Velthomer says. ❝ And hope she’s unharmed. I’ve come too far to play games about her. ❞
Hilda moves to call for the guards. In one motion, Azelle reaches to his side to unhook an aged insignia crafted from gold and presents it to her. It’s of the fire emblem. Azelle’s had it since he was young. It’s his proof that he belongs to the main branch of House Velthomer, and upon seeing it, Hilda’s eyes grow wide.
❝ What… What are you doing with that?! ❞ she begins, and when he doesn’t answer within the following second, she adds: ❝ That’s mine!! ❞
Such a blatant, bold-faced lie shocks Azelle enough to freeze him. How she still, even with such proof, can’t recognize the man before her is almost impressive. Then, she moves wrest the icon from his hands.
❝ Bastard!! Let go of it!! ❞
Bastard. She isn’t wrong. Every sibling the Emperor has is a bastard. She knows that, but she’s the kind of woman to squeeze any honor she can from her station. The fire emblem would help in that – but Azelle isn’t about to relent.
He tugs against her, hard, and the gold insignia spins out of their hands and skitters across the stone floor behind him. Before either of them can dive after it, a dark brown hand has plucked it off the floor, and its owner is regarding it with wide, amethyst eyes. He recognizes her instantly, and even if it’s been over a year they’ve been apart, she recognizes him too.
❝ Azelle, ❞ Tailtiu says quietly, voice thick with emotion.
He’s at her side at once. One arm wraps around her waist and the other gently cups her cheek. He hopes for a smile, but she doesn’t yield one. Both her hands curl around his family crest, holding it to her chest. She stares up at him wordlessly. Anything she wants to say is readable in her eyes – he knows her well enough.
❝ I spoke to Arvis, ❞ he explains, hurriedly. His voice also holds an extra quality, a sound put to the anxious excitement coursing through his body. ❝ Everything I said, Tailtiu, it’s… It will happen. He wants to meet you as your brother-in-law. We’ll live in Belhalla, us, and Arthur and... ❞
❝ Tinni... ❞
Azelle grins, holding her closer. ❝ Yes, Tinni, too, of course!! ❞
When Azelle left their home in Silesse to try and convince his brother to see what he’d done was wrong, Tailtiu had been pregnant. It had been over a year since then.
❝ She’s a Friege, in case you forgot, ❞ Hilda calls from behind them. Azelle’s wholly unsurprised her tune changes now. It always seemed as though she wanted to do whatever was the meanest thing possible in that moment. ❝ So she stays with Frieges. Unless... ❞
Hilda has a plot, of course. Azelle sees straight through it as she gives it. As she imagines, all her problems here disappear if Azelle dies. She aims to kill him in a duel -- there are no consequences for murder that way, and she’ll pluck his fire emblem off his body and tote it about as though it were her own. She knows a sibling of the emperor is a bastard, as does Azelle and the emperor himself, but if Azelle dies, that’s one less person who does, and she’s free to pass the story to those who aren’t aware of decades-old gossip. Tailtiu would stay with the Frieges then, for whatever reason Hilda wants her to stay.
Of course, Azelle has no intention of letting her win.
It’s a good chance that any referee Hilda deigns appropriate to oversee their match has less than a single motive to try and sway things in Hilda’s favor. That aside, Azelle has much to gain from winning as well. He’s not forgotten the way Hilda has treated Tailtiu in the past ( and presumably, the present, too ). Loathe as he is to admit it, he knows he’ll find at least a modicum of triumph in seeing her fall.
He’s the challenged party. They both decide to proceed with it immediately, but Azelle has the choice of weapon. The obvious choice is blade -- he’s certain Hilda doesn’t know how to use one, but she’s tricky enough to weasel out. Fire versus fire feels suitable for descendants of Fjalar anyway. They find a clear place outside of Alster’s walls, far enough away from any tree to cause an un-contained mess, and by the time they find their positions, a small crowd is watching Lady Hilda Friege in her duel against the unnamed messenger.
The referee swings his arm to the ground and starts the match. Azelle’s sure he’s seen more combat than she has. In one instant, his Elfire tome is open and the pages flutter to ready an incantation. Hilda’s only slightly slower, but slightly enough that the first conjured flame is controlled by Azelle.
It swirls and dances around her before swallowing her completely. Fire isn’t an easy spell to shake. People like themselves may find it easier than others, but that doesn’t change the wavy scars still lingering on Azelle’s arms from the first time he’d trained with Velthomer’s knights. Hilda cries out, but despite how hot Azelle’s fire burns, she’s left undaunted. The fire sloughs off her arms and bare skin, slips down her hair, and falls to the ground. It lingers, though, burning the grass and licking at the hem of her dress. She makes a counter spell, grinning with an unfamiliar emotion. Her flames trace lines in the ground, rising up into walls on either side of her and shooting towards where Azelle stands across from her.
Azelle acts quickly, rolling forward into the dirt. The walls of flame conjured by Hilda crash together where he stood prior, roiling into a burning inferno. He dodges the main attack, but the flame lingers on his cape, so with one arm, he unclasps and discards it. He can feel the heat behind him, and it causes him to swallow dryly.
She aims to kill him, of course, yet he still hesitated. Just as before -- years ago when he first wielded flame to harm another purposely. He’d reasoned it was okay, in some distant sense, as the man had come for him with an axe raised and grit teeth. Now, Hilda...
Hilda’s hurt Tailtiu. Presumably, she stole her away for her own sadistic aims. For years, she’d intercept Tailtiu’s letters, where she could. Azelle can remember times when, at parties, Tailtiu would move his hands off her -- no matter how gently he’d held her in dance -- because her brown skin hid bruises well.
Back then, he’d imagined hurting Hilda back, bruise for bruise, and had written it off as injust and barbaric. Now, tome in hand, those old feelings boil up from his stomach.
His next spell comes shouting. Azelle let his tome fall, freeing both his hands to erupt with ember. His palms feel only a fraction of the heat: the magic amplifies its temperature the further it leaves his hands.
Hilda glows white, and Azelle doubts he’ll ever forget her scream.
Azelle has to wrap his hands in gaze and vulnerary afterwards. Hilda has to be brushed up before the wind carries her away.
His chest heaves with heavy breaths for hours after. Both he and his wife cry, but for different reasons.
The next morning feels like a new beginning. He wakes up alongside Tailtiu at dawn. They pack her things. Tinni is swaddled in a soft purple blanket. She’s a very quiet baby -- not as fussy as Arthur was at her age.
He loves her, and Tailtiu, and Arthur. For the first time in seven years, he heads home, and nothing of note happens.
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‘ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, dear. ’ he laughed softly as he continued to wipe away the dirt that dusted his partner’s face. the handkerchief gently smoothed over flawless skin as vixel tilted his head ; although he occasionally expressed his displeasure with lucretia’s clumsiness, he found it to be one of her charms that ultimately enchanted the conductor. ‘ how many times must the others tell you not to worry about the housework? i know you want nothing more than to help those around you, but you can hurt yourself. i wouldn’t like to see that happen, lucretia. ’
