Sepia [Aelfric & Byleth]
starter for @swordofcreation
The sun gleams with the last warm remnants of autumn, bright in a cloudless sky, temporarily chasing away the portents of winter. The leaves have all fallen from the trees by now, save for the evergreens that prepare for the snow that will soon sit on their boughs, and the people of Garreg Mach walk together in bundles of heavy robes and woolen scarves. For once the crowd that the festival draws today is welcome protection from the icy winds that have already begun to whip beyond the town's gates, as are the scents of fresh-baked breads, smoked meat, and campfires.
Though on assignment from the church to watch over the festivities and to make himself available to pilgrims who have trekked to Garreg Mach for spiritual guidance, Aelfric is as much a willing festival-goer as all the others. Memories of past celebrations paint contentment across his face as he looks on. Forty years have passed so quickly, he thinks as he watches shades of his youth in the timid young men who try to please equally timid young women with food from the stalls lining the streets. Aelfric meets the glance from one with a gentle smile and a nod of acknowledgement, and then turns away to browse another street. May he be bold, he sends in silent prayer to the ghost of himself in that youth.
Hands resting upon one another behind his back, Aelfric browses the wares presented down this street with no real goal in mind. Many of the shopkeeps recognize him, as he has regularly attended the festivals of Garreg Mach for as long as he has lived there, and he stops to chat with one or two who have found their businesses slowed for the morning. The same conversations. The same people. Aelfric offers what pre-packaged advice he has prepared for these interactions, and the shopkeeps nod enthusiastically as if hearing some groundbreaking idea. They part, though neither has been made any different from the conversation.
The street opens up to a wide square, sectioned off by a makeshift enclosure at the center. Knights clad in blue and gold tend to horses who snort impatiently, and the crowd that has come to encircle them talks loudly and eagerly about Faerghus tradition. Aelfric paces the outer perimeter, looking over the heads of those gathered with mild interest. Memories of the past once more overwhelm him.
His feet stop.
Those eyes.
Renewed vigor spurs him through the crowd, to tap lightly on her shoulder.
She turns. Yes, without a doubt. A fond smile quickly overcomes the surprise.
"You must be Jeralt and Sitri's child."
