#yetarnished

[incertion]

non-verbal actions | @yetarnished says: 03. cups the others face with both hands. from marika to radagon <3

he is a knight, a hero, a general, graced by gold. she is holy and all things faithful, and only by her permission does he intake breath in her presence. his fellows oft say to stake his heart in something without nuance is folly, that his unwavering devotion is meant for the sullen halls of a church. radagon believes there is, perhaps, nothing more sacred than this duty, the one he finds in the queen's throne room now.

his campaign has been long, but not hard⸻every battle is decisively won, as their influence stretches further and further west. the carian-held lakes are next. radagon will admit he is apprehensive, if simply for a general distaste for wet boots⸻regardless, he accepted the assignment with great vigour. for the eternal queen, for the golden order, for the greater will, there is no sacrifice too large, nothing he would not lay at her feet if he was asked.

when he finishes his report (with a satisfied hum), he rises to his feet, raises his head. this scene is common, where he delivers news of successful conquest, and he knows well not to linger⸻the divine require their own space, he has always surmised.

as he does, queen marika, wreathed in light (she has the sort of face that is truly indescribable, imposing and elegant beyond words), slips her hands around his cheeks, and keeps him in place. he cannot turn away (he would not deny her), and instead holds her gaze, steady.

he blinks, does not resist. inclines to the touch, even, unfamiliar but pleasant. radagon welcomes the warm notes of grace. they breach his skin, and envelop his soul. “ your majesty? ” he asks, tone hesitant and questioning, yet calm, all the same. there is no need for fear. “ is there something you still require of me? ”

[goldblight]

" you could learn a lot from me. " from marimom ✨

a meme, somewhere | @yetarnished + marika

There is weight, in the telling. Heavier than gold, heavier than the burden of prodigy they both share. For all that his mother seems to carry so gracefully, Godwyn knows there are paths she has walked that have long-since imprinted upon the earth, all scars of a different kind. Rarely does she speak on it. Rarely does he ask.

The sun has already begun to set on his faith. He would not see it set on his mother, learning what she knows.

His pace beside her does not slow as he takes her hand in his. And they are still hers, unblended for now, wholly of the same softness he knew as a boy. So often as a man has he taken up his axe for her, willing to bear the callus in her stead. " Would'st you tell things in truth? " He asks, looking to the side of her face. Godwyn has shot passed her in height, now - still, he feels he must look up to see her. " The whole of it? " A part of him - that fatal flaw of his father's mortality, perhaps - prays that she wouldn't.

[saintsdawn-a]

↬ @yetarnished, as wyll, says, “ you seem devout. i suggest you pray ? ”

“ your suggestion is good, but i am afraid you’re too late. my prayers were shared with the rising sun. my well of wishes and wants is dry. ” but it was awfully kind of him to consider, wasn’t it?

“ i just hope he listens. ” whether it was an invitation or not, they take hold of the opportunity. it isn’t often they can share their worries aloud. “ i’ve talked his ear off, or i’m afraid i have. each day brings something new troubles to share, and with these, ” a finger gestures to their head, “ i’ve been more frantic than usual. ”

a moment. a pause. they look at wyll with great consideration. “ is there anything you would like me say ? given the circumstances, i think it’s reasonable for lathander to lend an ear. ”

[unalloy]

1 - line starters ✦ for @yetarnished ( godwyn )

" brother, " miquella says, voice thick with anguish. he kneels in the sludge of deeproot, the only gold in sight his wheat - coloured hair. " i know you're there. please ... speak to me. "