Plotted AU Starter for @jasperlion || Sequel to this
At least they'd gotten her a change of clothes. Admittedly it wasn't the dresses she was used to, but...it wasn't awful, she would concede that. She didn't feel like a piece of meat being put on sale anymore at least.
But ye gods, would it kill them to trim down on the furs a little? She'd abandoned the shawl part halfway through the first day and just put up with the glares she'd received from those who thought she was being dismissive. She wasn't trying to be insulting, she was damn well overheating.
"..."
But handing over some new clothes, taking care of the servants sent with her, and giving them actual sleeping quarters - she'd been afraid it would be some cramped room for all of them, but no, to her surprise, individual rooms - wouldn't quite get Clair to cooperate with the Rigelians so far. More than absolutely necessary, anyway. For the time being she was satisfied just living out the house arrest that she was essentially in while waiting for the Prince to return, occasionally having to fight down the urge to try and escape.
She might make it. Truly, she might. But not if she wanted to take everyone else with her as well. So she ended up staying, and hoping that her brother or the rest of Zofia wouldn't do anything reckless to try and save her.
When she went down for breakfast that morning she should have been more surprised to see Albein waiting for her at the table than she was. But a week's worth of waiting was enough to make her jaded enough to expect that each day aws just some new kind of torture until he'd had his fun and decided to put her out of her misery.
Then again, there was another seat left at the table. She gathered teal skirts in her hand, still not used to the sheer bulkiness of it all (or the corset - seriously, and they called Zofian fashion depraved? At least she could breathe when showing off that much skin) as she sat down across from him as elegantly as she could muster.
"So." She said as casually as she could while she reached for fruit, cold eyes staring into his defiantly. "Is this my last meal before an execution, then? Or has the Emperor oh so graciously decided to allow me to live?"
She made a slight face as she considered the even worse third option. "Just tell me we aren't actually expected to be wed after all. I really would rather be...what was that turn of phrase you used when we met? Ah, yes. Strung up by my innards. Delightful."
Participant(s): Clair, Albein Rudolf II ( @jasperlion)
Words: 4,908
Type: Base conversation / C Support
Summary: Confronted with the reality of her situation and her nation’s politics, the still-captive Clair starts to sell out Zofia in an attempt to save lives. However, she still comes to verbal blows with her captor, and her situation continues to be precarious.
At least they’d gotten her a change of clothes. Admittedly it wasn’t the dresses she was used to, but…it wasn’t awful, she would concede that. She didn’t feel like a piece of meat being put on sale anymore at least.
But ye gods, would it kill them to trim down on the furs a little? She’d abandoned the shawl part halfway through the first day and just put up with the glares she’d received from those who thought she was being dismissive. She wasn’t trying to be insulting, she was damn well overheating.
“…”
But handing over some new clothes, taking care of the servants sent with her, and giving them actual sleeping quarters - she’d been afraid it would be some cramped room for all of them, but no, to her surprise, individual rooms - wouldn’t quite get Clair to cooperate with the Rigelians so far. More than absolutely necessary, anyway. For the time being she was satisfied just living out the house arrest that she was essentially in while waiting for the Prince to return, occasionally having to fight down the urge to try and escape.
She might make it. Truly, she might. But not if she wanted to take everyone else with her as well. So she ended up staying, and hoping that her brother or the rest of Zofia wouldn’t do anything reckless to try and save her.
When she went down for breakfast that morning she should have been more surprised to see Albein waiting for her at the table than she was. But a week’s worth of waiting was enough to make her jaded enough to expect that each day aws just some new kind of torture until he’d had his fun and decided to put her out of her misery.
Then again, there was another seat left at the table. She gathered teal skirts in her hand, still not used to the sheer bulkiness of it all (or the corset - seriously, and they called Zofian fashion depraved? At least she could breathe when showing off that much skin) as she sat down across from him as elegantly as she could muster.
“So.” She said as casually as she could while she reached for fruit, cold eyes staring into his defiantly. “Is this my last meal before an execution, then? Or has the Emperor oh so graciously decided to allow me to live?”
She made a slight face as she considered the even worse third option. “Just tell me we aren’t actually expected to be wed after all. I really would rather be…what was that turn of phrase you used when we met? Ah, yes. Strung up by my innards. Delightful.”
-w-w-w-
He curses his cousin under his breath as he prepares himself for the day, mutters about how unfair it is that his Father declared it so once he’s dressed and ready, and grumbles to himself on his way to a very specific dining hall. Getting up early enough in the morn for this was no hard task, he was usually up even earlier to practice his drills, but to have to wake up and preen himself for a Zofian noblewoman?
… A noblewoman proven innocent, mind, so he had to pay respects and be the one to deliver the news; at least, it was what his Father had ruled in private with them. On the upside, he would not have to deal with the diplomatic spectrum outside these halls. On the downside…
Ugh, he’d much rather have his meal in the barracks mess hall and just get back to his training.
If anything, at least he let himself oversleep (training before coming would just mean he’d need more time to clean up), having heard of the woman’s regular habits by now and when she’d likely arrive to eat. So, of course, he arrives early and prepares himself, like any good combatant would, and waited.
And waited.
… When exactly did she normally come by, again?
The sound of footsteps, for the nth time, has him straightening his back from his slouch and clasping his hands together politely at his lap, and now it’s finally not a false alarm as the door opens to find that girl, Claire, on the other side. She… doesn’t look too pleased. Good, neither was he. (The clothes they had sent looked a little odd on that girl…)
It’s funny, most nobility he had dealt with from either side of the Sluice Gate was fond of preamble, and yet Clair never quite bothered with it, heading right to the punch and likely right into getting her neck under an axe. So of course he barks a laugh at her words of defiance, and her implications that she’d rather die than marry him. A good and hearty laugh, reaching for a fruit himself now that he can actually eat instead of waiting for the woman. “Straight to the point and pulling no punches, I like that.” He says, wondering what his reaction would have been had she said that to him the day she arrived.
“Word’s been sent to your house as per the misunderstanding and… plot, but while you and yours are cleared from any willful wrongdoing… you shan’t leave just yet.” Deciding to honor her frontal nature, Albein too gets right to the heart of the matter. “Not until the matter is settled with the Zofian crown— if they had planned to have you die here, would you not say it is quite likely to have you eliminated before you return?”
A pause, and he then continues. “It would put us in quite the position, yes?” It wasn’t about her safety as a person that they were concerned for, after all, and he hoped he had been quite clear. Taking a bite from the fruit in hand, he waits until he swallows before he continues. “Though this whole situation might just be what ignites a war, even if no one died in this… particular incident.”
-w-w-w-
“Yes, clearly. Pulling punches isn’t in your style.” Clair said as evenly as she could, feeling her jaw twinge a little in memory. Still, at least she managed to avoid showing any signs of her physical discomfort at the reminder. Her bravado and bluster was all well and good, but she still wouldn’t want to be beaten again. Skilled as she may be, the Prince was stronger. And without her pegasus here to level the playing field, she wasn’t under any illusions as to how a fight between them would play out.
She allowed her shoulders to sink in relief slightly when she heard that at least her and her companions weren’t found to have done anything wrong, even if they weren’t allowed to leave. That sent a small chill down her spine as she hesitantly bit into her own fruit, glaring daggers at him with a low growl building in her throat. No, no, she shouldn’t rise to his barbs. Besides, he was right, they likely would have died shortly after crossing the border once more if that was their intention.
“If this does ignite the war, at least try to keep in mind that not all of Zofia backed the actions that led to your treatment.” The idea of suggesting that her family and their sympathizers might be convinced to stay out of any conflict or indeed ally with the Rigelian forces made the food taste like ashes in her mouth, but it was better than the alternatives. “Your conceptions of us are based on the abhorrent behavior of our ruling class, not even the entire span of the Nobility.”
She could tell that this line of conversation would be pointless for today, although she could also predict that she’d be having this argument with him time and time again until she was released or finally executed. Speaking of… “So, then, what of me and mine? Are we to be kept in some gilded cage for your amusement after all?”
She paused in horror as one other alternative crossed her mind. Speaking of allying those portions of Zofia…
“Goddess protect me, I was joking about the marriage. If your father thinks anything like that shall happen I assure you I will castrate you in our wedding bed.”
-w-w-w-
Heh, pulling punches not being his style? At least she caught on quick, and it draws an amused huff from the prince. Yet even as he looks forward for even more entertainment, what comes next is quite the opposite.
Clair relief is transparent, but it does not procure amusement from him, simply a twinge of… is it pity? Strong as the woman was, she had truly been worried for the fate of her own, which was something he could at the very least call admirable. He thoughtfully eats the orange after peeling it (quite the popular fruit despite its Zofian origin, apparently), listening to her with calculating eyes.
Conceptions, conceptions… is it not the ruling class that set the example? Even so, he quiets his hackles, instead… delegating himself to observing.
… And he can’t help but once more laugh at loud as her expression turns to horror, and she explicitly states her intent to maim him right on the table during mealtime. Hah, when they said Zofians were bold…
“If my hand were that easy to offer, perhaps your fears would have merit. But, as you say… it seems you judge my father by the actions of your ruling class. If I recall… that Lima dog asked for the hand of a lesser noble on our eastern border in return for some emergency supplies some years before my own birth.” And there is no effort to hide the sheer disdain and disrespect he feels for that man in particular, expression turning haughty for a brief moment. Well, at least he had finished the fruit already, lest that bile building in his throat make him lose his apetite.
When were the kitchen hands going to bring the actual food? Gods. He signaled for the one at the door, who scampered away soon after.
“If my marriage were made for political gain, it would stand to be more sensible to marry me off to one of Lima IV’s numerous spawn before your family would even be considered, well known as your brother may be. Your fears are, frankly, misplaced.” With that, he waves the topic off, sighing in relief as they’re finally served a proper course; eggs, dried cod, sausages, some loaves and even more fruit along with some drinks. Eh, worked for him.
“Yourself and yours will be given more permissions among the castle walls, and provided you remain here, all will be well.” Pausing for effect, he continues with a lowered tone of voice, threat clear as day. “However, if you were to leave before matters are settled, well… it would be quite incriminating. Not to mention what awaits you on the other side of the border.”
He waits until his words settle before speaking again. “Is it to your liking?”
-w-w-w-
“I think the last few weeks would have made it clear I am no longer fond of my own ruling class. But considering yours imprisoned me before threatening to murder us for situations beyond our control, I believe it’s fair to say that neither side is exactly ideal in my eyes at the moment.” She said stiffly, although she let her shoulders sag a little in relief when it turned out they weren’t to be wed. Attractive or not, it would likely end with one of them dead in their wedding bed given how their last few conversations had gone.
“What I hear of King Lima’s children is positive, to my surprise.” She narrowed her eyes a little at his brazen insult. She had never met any of them, but the rumors and words of her brother and future sister-in-law made them out to be good kids by comparison to their father. “Perhaps people learn from the mistakes of their parents in Zofia instead of taking inspiration from it.”
She let the thinly veiled insult sit as she reached over, spearing a sausage on one fork and twirling it between her fingers as she glared. What were the odds of him trying to strike her again? To sate her own paranoia she kept her right hand hovering near the knives, pausing to take a bite from the cylinder of meat and blinking in surprise.
“It’s not bad.” She admitted, grudgingly. She rolled her eyes as she finished the sausage, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth as she sighed. “Oh, very well. Myself and mine will stay here in this gilded cage you’ve left for us.”
She smiled, thinly. “Am I to expect that you will be remaining here as well, then? It certainly is an ideal location to plan out what is almost certainly your inevitable offensive against my nation. Or shall I have the joy of meeting our new gaoler sooner than expected?”
-w-w-w-
While Albein’s eyes narrow a little at her clear distaste in himself and his ilk, he instead proceeds to eat as she speaks, making sure to keep his eyes on her at all times. However, it is her jab at his father that stops him midchew and, swallowing whatever he had managed to already mince that was in his mouth, he very carefully and deliberately set his utensils down.
Of course he listens to the rest, of course he mulls over his words before he speaks, but he is no longer relaxed nor laughing or smiling, his expression has turned rather cold.
“If my father’s mistake was not executing you and yours on very fair grounds of numerous insults upon our traditions and treaties, then perhaps I should learn from it.” He all but hisses, threat looming heavily over the atmosphere now. It was only out of Emperor Rudolf’s grace that she wasn’t dead, and she deigns it fine to insult the man?
He wants to just stand and leave— yet to let food go to waste was something he simply could not stand for, and would not, so he forces himself to remain where he sat, despite wishing to demonstrate. He takes a breath, then exhales— if this is what it takes to get to him, then his patience indeed does have an awfully short wick.
“I was asking if the accommodations and arrangements were to your liking, but I suppose the food comes with that.” He finally speaks after a pause drawn out, not to further intimidate the damnable woman, but to simply quell his temper. “As for me…” There is another pause, and he briefly considers what he’s about to say. “… I am a general before I am a prince, and so if my unit marches, I march. That is to say… I do not know if arrangements will change, nor when.” It was, after all, a precarious time and negotiations were ongoing. If the woman was blind to just how big a scandal this whole thing had brought and how they had all been placed on high alert, perhaps this would give her more awareness on the matter.
“It is heavily dependent upon the response of your king. The Earth Mother’s fortune may not be on your side for long.” With that, he continues to eat his meal in silence, mood already foul and dropping by the minute. Yes, it was quite the good thing arrangements were not being done for them to marry — he’d sooner throw the woman to the mountains to survive on her own.
-w-w-w-
“We both know that King Lima is likely to respond poorly.” Clair muttered acidly, stabbing viciously at another sausage to try and calm herself. While Albein certainly found ways to raise her temper, she was finding herself growing angrier and angrier at her…former?…ruler with each passing day. She dabbed at her cheeks with a napkin, scowling down at her own reflection in her plate before letting out a deep and unsatisfied sigh.
Fuck. She was going to have to apologize, wasn’t she.
“You’ve treated us better than I would have ever expected you. Once you stopped threatening to hit us, at least.” Clair said reluctantly, eventually forcing herself to look Albein in the eyes even though her own arrogance and anger made it so difficult. Maybe that would let him see how honest she was being about this.
“…my brother was talking about increased attention on supply deprivation and night assaults during their training exercises recently.” She muttered, shaking her head. Even this much information felt almost wrong to be sharing, even if she both wished to see the top of Zofian society collapse for how she was treated and try to return at least some of the kindness shown to her here. “I would prepare for night raids and keep your supplies more secure. As my very presence here is sure to demonstrate to you, I doubt that Zofian High Command is going to be particularly chivalrous to your forces should war start.”
She stopped, and groaned as the next words came out choked and bitter. “And…I’m sorry.”
-w-w-w-
Albein merely gives a terse nod of assent to her scathing words towards the Zofian ruler, scowl forming on his face at the thought of having to go to war over petty insults, of all things. Yet it is her next words that actually give him pause, turning his expression from barely contained ire to… befuddlement, really.
And certainly, he still feels anger lurking within, the scowling tug at his lips remain and his emotions still flare with a defensive air—
but to see this Zofian earnestly cede ground with an honest gaze despite how difficult she finds it to do, it is not something he would have expected to witness in his lifetime.
… Nor the intel, which he would ensure to bring to the attention of the Rigelian army as a whole. The last thing they needed was supply raids, not when they had oh so little and Zofia thrived on riches bestowed upon them by their God.
So he closes his eyes, taking a breath to try to cool the flames that still raged in his heart, let them simmer into embers that still stung even now. “… I too have not been the most stellarly behaved man.” He says, voice softening, even if he still sounded tense and angered. One breath, then another, and he puts thought into… what he actually just said.
It leaves him feeling a little more confused than anything, like he needed to think everything through more carefully— when he was alone. Clearing his throat, he proceeds and pushes the thoughts to the side for now. “I apologize as well.”
Still… there is value in what he had learned. “The information you have provided will be helpful in keeping my men alive and fed. I… understand it is difficult to share.” He wasn’t sure he ever would have, and perhaps it is what made the apology the most genuine in his eyes… if true. “… Thank you.”
… It was a struggle when he still felt like he should be angry, really, but perhaps it’s time he acknowledge that he’s not the only person with feelings in the room. Surely, now, he would be closer to understanding what kindness truly was. “… I will keep your words of the children of Lima in mind.” Discreetly, he finds himself rubbing the back of his left hand with his right, forcing himself to stop and instead… finish his food. Preferably in silence.
-w-w-w-
“If this war is inevitable then it would be for the best for it to end as swiftly as possible one way or another. And with how you have treated us recently…I fear that the preferred ending may be through your kingdom’s victory. I cannot say that my own royalty would treat their own captives with the same kindness.” She paused, glancing up from the floor and letting her eyes meet his for a brief moment.
In that instant, there was understanding. She was starting to see the kind of person that Albein really was, see past the initial barriers of callousness and, yes, even past the fact she found the man attractive. This was the kind of man who genuinely cared, even if his way of showing it was poor. Her jaw twinged a little.
“Well. To correct myself, I suppose it is better to say they would be more like the first few hours I spent here. Except stretched out over months, and with increasing levels of depravity.” She said in a forced light tone as she glared for an instant before looking away guiltily.
“I would suggest familiarizing yourself with combat in the air as well. In my last year of training I noticed that the entrance qualifications for the pegasus knights had drastically dropped since I began…I fear that this may well have been for a reason.” She paused again and asked in a more timid voice. “My mount…has Bucephalus been treated properly? I know the animals were fed and watered, but I haven’t been allowed to see him since.”
-w-w-w-
His eyes flicker to her whenever she speaks, paying rapt attention even as he quietly finishes his own meal. His expression does, however, contort to a scowl at the thought of Zofian imprisonment; it sounded rather barbaric. Sure, as Clair and her people had been under review for actions that were unclear, the accomodations were what was considered decency — and had they been condemned of wrongdoing, they’d have been moved to proper cells…
But prolonging suffering with depravity felt unnecessary, almost akin to whatever those Faithful loyalists had been getting onto ever since the Faith changed leadership from Halcyon. It was…
Gods, it certainly made him wish to have a word or two of his own.
His expression calms, however, when she tries to advice further, advice that gives him thought: their own pegasus division was lacking, if anything due to how finicky the mounts were, and how far less hardy they were in the cold. While bolstering their mounted archers would definitely help with skyward threats, he would most definitely consider proposing to his father that they look into better ways to care for and maintain pegasi healthy and active throughout the year in the northernmost part of the country. And, well, of course she’s worried about…. her beast. The thought makes him let out a noise of amusement after all the silence, and he swallows down the last of the food before he finally speaks to her.
“Your mount is as willful as you are. He is in the stables, fit as can be, though we do not know how he has been trained. As such… he has a harness now that doubles as a coat for warmth, but it is mostly so the beast does not… fly off. It would be a shame to confuse your pegasus for an enemy or even a fleeing one and see him shot down— but I assume being grounded has made him temperamental. I can’t say I blame him.” Might as well get… that out of the way first, since the woman did seem worried over the beast.
Ah, he couldn’t say much on the matter or even make fun of her— he too would be distraught if his favorite destrier had been kept from him in foreign lands. “As you and yours status has shifted to protected… guests… I am to assume you should be capable of visiting the stables from henceforth. Provided you both… remain within the premises.”
It is… not a threat, surprisingly, but rather a cautionary tone that he carries in his words, which he seems to delay to think through how to say things. He can’t just… throw words around, anymore.
“… You can be certain all you have told me will make its way to the Emperor’s ears. It is invaluable.” Dipping his head respectfully, he eyes her with mild curiosity, even if she had already told him her reasons. She would rather the conflict end swiftly… in their favor… and with minimal losses. Well… he could empathize with it. “Let us hope whatever comes of this mess ends quickly. I’ve no taste for needless slaughter. …Nor do I fancy your description of Zofian customs towards prisoners. I am… surprised, really.”
Honestly, he had thought them to not even be able to stomach the concept of keeping prisoners or something. He… had some research to do.
The prince remains seated, however, despite his thoughts that he truly should be elsewhere — it was rude to leave without waiting for her to be done, correct? … Maybe? He wasn’t sure if it was the same in Zofia, actually…
-w-w-w-
“Bucephalus is more than a mount. Not that I would expect you to understand the kind of bond that forms between a pegasus and their rider.” Clair said in a heated voice, eyebrows narrowing for a brief second. She wondered if it was worth the risk of the careful, knife-edge peace they’d established between them collapsing to tear into him a little more before she bit her tongue and let it pass.
Not that she didn’t want to, and she expected that he’d see that. Hopefully he’d let the temporary spike of acidity pass as she swirled water in her mouth and swallowed with a light grimace.
Perhaps she should have only metaphorically bitten her tongue.
“I would rather no war happen. But given my newfound feelings towards King Lima and his advisors…I suppose I can hardly be blamed for wishing to turn my coat. At least partially.” She hesitated. “I cannot say if you could use my cooperation to convince my parents to work with you, but my brother and his fiancee would be more amenable to listening should they see I am unharmed.”
A smirk flickered across her face for a moment, shaking her head. “Once he is finished with attempting to fillet you under the assumption you must have ravished me or such, that is. I dare say I would hate to see you perish, but perhaps a light beating in exchange for the one you gave me when we first met would be acceptable.”
-w-w-w-
Albein’s expression goes from mildly amiable to closed off and cautious the moment her voice heats and she makes a big deal and assumption over… words that are facts. The pegasus is a mount, as much as any war horse is, no matter how beloved and bonded. And the people of Rigel were known horsemen—! “For one who hates assumptions, you are quick to make your own.” He hisses in turn, standing from his seat. He’d tolerate this no longer than he absolutely had to. He had tried, Gods as witnesses, to be ‘reasonably understanding’, yet she would continue this testy little game…!
“We shall see how negotiations go with your kin. However, should your brother run off on his assumptions, I will not be holding back to defend my honor. I’ll not be compared to lecherous pigs.” No Rigelian worth their salt would let themselves just be beat upon false accusations, and he wasn’t about to be the first.
There’s a pause as he glowers down towards Clair, tension in the air thick and heavy, before he finally exhales once more and turns. “… We do not make habit to toss food here. Make sure to finish it.”
… That’s all he has to say to this damnable Zofian. It well may be that he has plenty to think of, but he’ll not lower himself to standing her company any longer when all she did was prod at his sides! He refused to lower himself to such. With a huff, he stalks off towards the doors.
-w-w-w-
“I understand.” Clair said quietly, aware that she must have crossed a line - but unwilling to admit her defeat. The lecherous pigs comment made her flinch back, eyes blazing in anger for a brief moment before she instead bit her tongue and looked to the side, unable to meet his gaze. No, that one was her fault, almost entirely.
She watched him leave in silence, for a brief moment considering that she should possibly stand up and apologize - but, no. She wasn’t there yet. She already felt sick for how she was selling out her nation, even if it was the only truly moral option she had available to herself - she couldn’t bring herself to debase herself in such a manner.
“Try not to choke on your own tongue muttering to yourself.” She grumbled once he was gone, shaking her head. She frowned, seeing that her hand was shaking nervously as she lowered her fork down to the table.
“…blast it…” She muttered to herself. She just hoped that when the death tolls from the war she’d just helped start came in, they wouldn’t keep her awake for too long each night.
She had never really troubled to learn much of politics, particularly at the kind of level she was now wishing she had learned. Her family may have been important, but they weren’t ‘dealing with Rigel’ important. That should have been her first clue. But not for the first time she found herself cursing her own optimism, blind faith in authority, and the fact that her entire damned family had listened to what the King had said without pausing to think that, perhaps, such a renowned hedonist with such a noted asshole of a vizier wasn’t telling the entire truth.
Clair had found out that the Rigelian guards had expected the Princess and not a nobleman’s son at the border. Then she found out that this wasn’t to be some kind of official courtship, but if Lima - or Desiax, she supposed, the manipulative creep - had their way she was just to be pawned off to the Rigelian prince.
Not even as a wife. A consort. Her! Ye goddess, did nobody have any shame! And her treatment upon arrival hadn’t been much greater either met with derision and glares before being shoved in an empty waiting room and snidely told that she would learn what they would do with her!
Well. She could hardly give Lima or Desaix a piece of her mind, but whoever the Rigelians sent through that damned door she could deal with. A few minutes were wasted trying to pull one of the ornamental swords off the display above the fireplace until she embarrassingly realized they were welded onto the shield, at which point she settled for the candlesticks. Except those were screwed down.
Did nobody in this country read any books? There was always suppose to be something the heroine could arm herself with to fend off fiends! ...or perhaps they’d read too many, she supposed. Grumbling she settled with trying to pry one of them off anyway, which was unfortunately the sight that the Rigelians would be met with when they opened the door - Clair growling in frustration, hands wrapped around the heavy cast-iron candlestick and trying to yank it from the coffee table so she could hit them with it.
At least she regained her composure fairly swiftly when she heard the door open. Hands moved to her side, brushing against the light blue of the dress she’d been forced into by the Zofian royals - she supposed the cleavage and slits for her thighs should have been warning signs in hindsight, now that she thought about it - before one moved to toy with her hair in her normal, nervous fashion while she marched straight up to the green-haired man in the center.
His armor and headpiece had the most spikes on it. Knowing this place, that likely meant he was either in charge, or the Prince himself.
“Is this any way to treat a lady?” She said sharply, resisting the urge to slap him for the moment. “I tell you I have had a very trying day - sold off like some common hound to the alleged prince of this nation after being decieved, and then shoved into this room with no food nor drink for the last few hours!”
She felt a guard step up to try and pull her away from the man she now knew had to be the prince from the sheer number of armed guards around her, but she batted him away with an elbow and jabbed a finger into the taller man’s collar in the most actively outraged fashion she could muster. For Clair, that was an awful lot of indignant fury to be on display.
It had been an incredibly long time since Clair had last started to doubt her faith in Alm. After all...look at everything that he had accomplished. Ended a war, saved two nations, slain a mad god, travelled across the seas and defeated a monstrosity that some madman had created - granted, with help, but it had always been by his hands ultimately. Save for those times it was Celica...but then again, the two were essentially the same person these days.
But some things nagged at the pegasus knight's mind. Ever since they'd just turned into rulers of a peacetime nation instead of a wartime commander, she was starting to think that perhaps Alm's judgement was...slipping. Mostly because there always seemed to be disputes the two of them couldn't solve, some battle between Zofiain and Rigellian traditions that could not be resolved peacefully. She gritted her teeth, shaking her head with a sigh as she stormed through the hallways. This was different, however - this was going too far.
The healers had assured her that Clive would be alright in a month or two, but it had still been harrowing to see that 'peaceful convoy' he was leading return with arrows and blood coating the survivors. She was starting to feel a little guilty that she had torn into Alm with such verbal abandon, but as she stewed in her resentment she wasn't quite ready to go and apologize yet.
So the commander of Valentia's pegasus knights was storming around the courtyard, kicking ill-tempered at the dirt and hoping nobody heard the distinctly not noble words she was muttering under her breath. It was almost a relief when she stumbled across the one person in the castle who disliked Alm as much as she did right now - even if her hate was temporary, it would be good to have someone marginally sympathetic to speak to.
"Oh, Lord Berkut. Thank Mila." Clair let out an overly dramatic sigh as she stamped up next to the widowed Rigellian prince, glancing him up and down for a moment. He seemed in ill temper...nothing out of the ordinary, then. "Perhaps you may be a bastion of sanity for the moment. The moment the Emperor does something wrong and everyone is stumbling over themselves to excuse him for it rather than holding him to account! Can you believe it?"
“Faye, you grew up with Alm and this Celica woman, did you not?”
“I envy such closeness. They say the group of you were like siblings. I have my brother, of course, but the only other friend I had in those days is a foe now. What was it like, having so many?”
Macedon is well known for the Dragoons, their air force. They make up a large portion of their military, which results in them having difficulty holding territory in conflicts but being unparalleled when it comes to rapid strikes and seizing vital locations.
By the start of Shadow Dragon, it consists almost entirely of Wyvern Riders. Michalis' grandfather failed to see the advantage of pegasi by comparison to the much more immediately deadly wyverns. The pegasus knights were as a result phased out, pegasi being reduced to training animals and for civilian use, mostly as couriers. The next king, Michalis' father, didn't do much to change this - although he did eventually allow Minerva to experiment with them after she qualified to become an officer. Michalis would share this slight opinion of superiority, continuing to put the focus on the Wyvern Riders over the freshly-formed Pegasus Division.
The Whitewings originated as a pet project of Minerva under her father's rule, hoping to bring the Pegasus Knights back to prominence. Once she qualified to become an officer, instead of simply assuming command of a flight of Wyvern Riders as was anticipated by most in the military she decided to instead form a division consisted entirely of Pegasus Knights. She provided several reasons for it beyond simple tradition:
Pegasi can fly much further and for much longer than the wyverns
Pegasi nature, for some reason, plays merry havoc with magic - protecting their riders to a greater extent than the wyverns
They are significantly more mobile, letting them deal with other air targets in dogfights far easier than wyverns.
Minerva was allowed to take two fresh recruits - Palla & Catria - under her wing as Pegasus riders instead of Wyvern riders. While Minerva was forced to keep her wyvern, and would never agree to part with them anyway, the two sisters raised their mounts from foals to form a strict bond. Est would later join, once she was of age to join the military as a whole.
'Whitewing' was a derogatory term from the rest of the military at first, mocking the apparent gentleness of the division compared to the rest of the military. It was Palla who suggested embracing the term, and as the group started to grow more successful with a handful of border skirmishes it eventually became a badge of respect.
Following the events of Shadow Dragon, Echoes and New Mystery, Palla - now commander of the former Macedon's military after Minerva's abdication and effective retirement - realized something. The events that the three sisters had been through had caused them to become synonymous with the term 'Whitewing', to the point where it was getting confusing to refer to the now-expanding Archaenean Pegasus Knights by it as a whole. Eventually Catria proposed that 'Whitewing' be turned into an accolade for outstanding service in the line of duty by Pegasus Knights, somewhat equivalent to a contemporary Victoria Cross. It was given out incredibly rarely, with Minerva's first three - Palla, Catria and Est - being confirmed as the first, and eventually once communication between the nations was established Clair Soutr of Unified Valentia was deemed the first Honorary Whitewing, seeing as she was not part of the organization the accolade proper belonged to.
It remains an accolade for an impressive amount of time, eventually falling out of use around the same time that the Archaenean Empire split apart into Regna Ferox, Plegia and Ylisse.
