Kris (M) from New Mystery of the Emblem, as penned by Ren (21+, they/them).
A closed roleplay blog affiliated with The Officers Academy.
โณ quick navigation: muse / stats / supports
Below the cut are quick notes for ease of reference.
โRE: CHARACTERIZATION.
โฆ Kris was taken one year following the events of New Mystery when he first arrived in Fรณdlan, but itโs been uhh... five years since then as of writing this, and the idea of bumping his age any higher (currently 23) gives me psychic damage. He is currently affiliated with the Knights of Seiros as of Red Wolf Moon 1183, and formerly a Blue Lions student of the Officers Academy. First and foremost though he is a knight of Altea and royal guard to Marth, and takes his duties seriously no matter where he is or what heโs doing.
โฆ I treat all of his possible battle conversations and base conversations as canon by default. Muns of castmates are welcome to discuss exceptions to this.
โฆ He takes noticeable care to address others with respect, and only drops the politeness/formality from his speech when heโs with close friends or is flat-out told to. This manifests as attaching Sir/Dame/etc. to peopleโs names regardless of their actual social status unless theyโre royalty, in which case he uses the appropriate title instead. In TOA heโs a bit less rigid about this because he isnโt surrounded by war heroes whom he idolizes anymore, so off come the rose-tinted lenses as a result, but still. He knows his place fairly well as a commoner-turned-knight who grew up in bumfuck nowhere.
โRE: GUIDELINES.
โฆ I use small text with bolded, colored dialogue (hex code #194999), and will usually accommodate partners who would prefer I not include one or more of these. On the flip side, the only formatting quirk I would strongly prefer you donโt use with me is coloring your text using Tumblrโs default optionsโblue and green are especially hard for me to read against a white background.
โฆ Asks are always welcome! Response time tends to vary, but the intent to reply is definitely there. These are mostly treated as canon unless they originate from non-event prompt lists.
โฆ I generally donโt need anything tagged, but if something does come up Iโll reach out. Likewise, I will tag specific content as itโs requested of me.
โฆ NSFW will always be tagged and hidden under a cut if/when it happens. I will only write it with muns Iโm comfortable with OOC.
โฆ Kris is open to shipping... theoretically. It will require long-term development with consideration to his personal stance on the subject of romance though (which is to say he doesnโt think itโs in the cards for him, in part because of his somewhat low self-worth), and like the previous bullet point I will only ship with muns Iโm comfortable with OOC.
โฆ In the event F!Kris is present in TOA, I would like to make it clear now that I am not interested in writing the two as siblings. Kris is canonically an only child, and it is mentioned in one of their support chains that they wished they had a younger sibling to dote on. Their relationship can develop to the point where they may see each other that way, but I will not write them as such from the start.
โRE: VISUAL CREDITS.
โฆ pfp and header were made by soji!
โฆ the artwork used in his blog theme was commissioned from rohkka on twitter/bluesky!
โฆ the pinned banner is mine.
kris offers to cover the fertilizer and azama handles the water. serendipity for linhardt - he needs not bother with either, or with getting his hands dirty! he can just investigate.
it seems he's not the only one with that in mind, too. azama speaks loudly of things linhardt would have lowered his voice for. maybe its his way of covertly interviewing the nun. it's silly, linhardt thinks. why go out of his way to do it in a way that might upset her? people don't like a gossip.
it is a fair question, though.
linhardt rubs the palms of his hands on his thighs, as though they'd dirtied them at all, and begins stepping over to interview the nun more directly.
โis it normal for this to happen?โ he asks her even before she's turned to face him. โis that why no one seems to be talking about the wilting plants?โ
then, he realizes he has another question too, and asks it before she has a chance to answer the first, โdo you think that water magic might work best in coincidence with say, a wind spell?โ
The nun turns at Linhardt's question, perhaps sensing his gaze on her or after finding it to be the most direct of the questions being posed between the triad of them. Before she can answer, however, a priest comes into the greenhouse.
"Sister Antoinette, there isโ" He looks to the three assembled. "Oh, guests." But that flat acknowledgement doesn't deter him from resuming his initial statement, so it would seem, turned right back to her. "There is news the shipment from Garreg Mach is enough to cover for the festival alongside what the Saunders and Ellises have produced, so we can redistribute our share to somewhere else in the island."
"Is that so? I'm not convinced Mayor Callaghan won't still ask for us if we can produce anything in time though even if everyone else's efforts are enough..." The nun glances back to the three guests in the greenhouse with her warily before she states, "...I'll speak with you and Father Rome more about this later."
The priest nods, swiftly leaving, as the nun turns back towards Linhardt and Azama primarily.
"I barely understand why Callaghan invited you all here other than his repeated insistence that this be the biggest celebration it can be no matter what," her frown is tight in the moments she pauses between responses. "Things have not always been this poor... but they have been steadily declining with each year, yes. It's hardly worth speaking about now except to get depressed over such things. But we must be strong and have faith."
She conjures water as a sprinkling over the plants in the back. She takes a beat before she entertains Linhardt's last string of thoughts. Her last comment comes quieter but still audibly: "...Even if wind with water might be good, I don't have wind magic."
What purpose, indeed. Were it only the supplies from Garreg Mach that Baile needed to compensate for the islandโs decreasing bounty, the invitations to their spring festival would be wholly unnecessary โ and work to the latterโs detriment besides by introducing more mouths to feed even just temporarily, depleting said supplies more quickly. But here they are either way, seeing for themselves that something is terribly amiss after months of being informed otherwise.
Not to mention the vision heโd witnessed prior to arrivingโฆ He supposes itโs going to be another one of those missions the more they look into the matter.
Especially when another priest appears and the ensuing conversation between him and Sister Antoinette reveals information of interest, even if aborted due to their guestsโ presences. Kris files it away for later as he hauls a bag of fertilizer closer to the plants, stripping off his gloves and stowing them in the satchel at his hip before starting to work the stuff into the soil. โIf the decline has been taking place over the span of years, surely someone has to have determined the cause by now? It seems unnatural to me that the vegetation could just die out like thisโฆโ
Many of his experiences in Fรณdlan fall under โunnaturalโ in a rather specific way though, so that doesnโt actually mean much at this point. โAnd what did that priest just now mean by redistributing your share to somewhere else on the island?โ
It is a bizarre thing, to be in one place one moment and, with no more than a pop! in entirely another the next. Azama hadn't even blinked!
The first order of business upon finding himself removed from District 6 was finding his bearings. With his new location determined, the only thing then left to do was decide: should he stick around, look into this church a bit, or ought he instead start on the trek back to his temporary host home?
Azama had been about to make up his mind when a glimpse of a building off to the side made it up for him.
A greenhouseโฆ
Andres. . .
There would be no Argent king tending to his blossoms within. The monk had known that much before heading that-a-way to begin with. All the same, he couldn't help the tingle of trepidation in him, a pang of nostalgia for a time he would never again bear witness to. โ
"You want to help with our greenhouse? It's a modest affair, but if you have a green thumb, helping spread fertilizer and watering our plants would be appreciated," the nun tells the three of them, showing them the bags of fertilizer and watering cans available. "There's a well outside you can draw water from as well. Oh, but if you have water magic, please feel free to use that! Our members that have it tend to do that regularly."
The nun makes her way to the back of the garden, leaving the three alone with their new task.
Azama offers the other two with him a curious sidelong glance (... presumably), lifted by his trademark smile. There's Kris - ol' reliable Kris. And then Linhardt... not entirely familiar to the monk, but not entirely a stranger, either. The youth had sat in on at least one of Azama's classes some while ago. Left something of an impression, too.
"I can draw some water," he notes cheerily. "... Since I don't have this water magic our friend made mention of." Come to think of it, very few were those he had ever come across who made talented use of that element, in particular. Huh. Anyway! Stooping to grab buckets in hand, Azama pads a few steps toward the well, before pausing.
Maybe it's that there's a time and place for formalities and small talk, and this is it. Or maybe it's that he doesn't quite want to be alone with the plants just yet.
"You've been keeping well, Kris? Eating plenty enough, I hope." His smile tightens, briefly, though it finds its relaxed default state before he continues on, head swiveling toward the student among the trio: "... You're interested in plants, Hevring?"
when linhardt had set off in search of more information, he hadn't exactly envisioned consigning himself to dirty his hands. still, the opportunity arose, and he took it for his own motivations, stuck working in a greenhouse with a professor he only vaguely remembers as โbasedโ and a knight he remembers fighting alongside in jugdral.
it's a good place as any.
the whole isle is flush with dead vegetation in an eerie mockery of what should be fact. one would have to be blind to miss the obvious problem, and yet every inhabitant seems to be visually impaired.
they'd genuinely expected the greenhouse to be a bastion of plant-induced panic. they'd anticipated some form of home-remedy or folk belief being recited to them before they dare handle these plants.
just water. normal plant things.
linhardt doesn't know much about plants at all, but even they know water alone can't help wilting yellowed stems.
if it were a soil problem, the greenhouse ought to have soil better suited for -ย
oh, linhardt realizes belatedly, โhevringโ refers to them. linhardt von hevring. right.
โtoday i am, i suppose,โ linhardt replies. โit isn't just me, right?โ
he looks to the nun, her back turned to the three, evaluating how well she might be able to hear any discussion, and lowers his voice accordingly. โi'd expected this place to beโฆ greener than the dismal display outside.โ
Krisโs eyes have been opened to a great many things over the past several years. The extraordinary ones are a given โ evils even greater than those which had menaced Altea and all of Archanea, and forces mostly aligned with the greater good of nearly equivalent power (more god-like perhaps than even the Divine Dragons). Neither those nor the more ordinary ones could have prepared him to see a land withered to this extent however. So thoroughly dead and dying that he isnโt sure anything short of a miracle will save it, for all that he himself has never been especially devout.
The greenhouse isnโt much better off than the rest of the isle when he pays it a visit, turns out. He nods along to the nunโs brief explanation on what needs doing before itโs just him and two faces that constitute at least familiar company, if nothing else. โProfessor,โ Kris acknowledges plainly, though something in his expression shutters a beat after the fact โ as if recognizing the meaning behind Azamaโs words before it vanishes as quickly as itโd appeared. โIโm doing fine, yes. It is good to see you look well, likewise.โ
Water magic, though? He can barely cast Heal. โฆDoes Heal even have any effect on plants? Either of the other two present would probably know better, considering.
โI thought the same,โ he admits instead, his gaze having followed Linhardtโs instinctively; his expectation colored in part by the monasteryโs greenhouse and the effort heโd contributed to its restoration some time ago. โIโll handle the fertilizer, but itโs hard to tell how much good itโll actually do for the plants when theyโre already in this state.โ
Heโs unsure whether to admire the peopleโs tenacity, for continuing to coax what they can out of the earth, or to wonder why they havenโt tried to leave for greener pastures yet.
Hello! As a heads up, I will be out of town starting today (July 30th) through Sunday (August 2nd) and therefore will not be at my computer to write. I will still do my best to check Discord when possible as Kris is going to lore, but posting to the dash will not happen until I return home. Thank you!
Potential training partners... / Someone you look up to... / The view from the bridge...
Itโs hard to avoid staring at the other manโs ears every now and again. Archanean history only speaks of humans and dragons, and while the rather long years Kris has spent in Fรณdlan have opened his eyes to possibilities he would have never known otherwise...
Well, if Alear can practically pass for human when heโs actually a Divine Dragon, thereโs no reason he canโt get used to this too.
โI was told that you arrived here very recently.โ Sitting down for tea wasnโt his idea, but itโs not like he could say no to a request related to his former house at the Officers Academy. Heโd been in that same position himself once upon a time, after all. Any advice he might be able to offer a newcomer would likely be appreciated. โDo you have any goals for your studies or training? Something in particular you want to prioritize?โย ย ( perfect teatime?ย โ no longer accepting! )
ย ย โI have,โย Joachim nods, reaffirming what the knight had been told. He tries to ignore where he glances up towards, and the conversation topic is normal enough that it seems to help.
I'd like to get stronger, is his immediate answer, but it's the one he's said a couple times now at this event. It's vague now that he thinks about it. When asked about something "in particular," he should give it more thought and specificity, shouldn't he?
So he tries again before he opens his mouth. He looks deeper into himself and thinks of the incident that had motivated him to run out of his village with a blade in his hand that he could hardly wield...
โI... I'd like to get better at taking down a heavily armored foe,โย he concludes, voice quieter but heart no less heavy for admitting it.ย โWith all my strength, I can't cut through one or cast powerful enough magic to stop one. But if I can stop even one from making it to my family, then I think I'd feel more confident in myself.โ
โA heavily armored foe...โ Itโs a good answer. Kris has plenty of firsthand experience with the obstacle they pose on the battlefield, knows what it takes to effectively counter their defenses. โCutting through one is no easy feat, even with training or raw strength. Itโd be ideal to obtain a weapon forged to pierce their armor if you can, but they tend to be uncommon at best โ and somewhat expensive to purchase too.โ
Hence ideal. No armor is without its chinks though, and while the wearer can certainly do their utmost to prevent them from being exploited by enemies, no man is truly invincible. (The Darksphereโs protection came close, but even it was not without some form of countermeasure in the end.) โWithout that, youโll want to practice aiming your blade at the gaps in your foeโs armor, which requires not only accuracy but speed as well. Thereโs no easy way around it if you want to confront such an opponent head-on.โ
Heโd said he couldnโt cast powerful enough magic either, on the other hand โ odd, since even a weak spell is more effective against an armored knight than the average sword. Or so Kris had thought, but maybe thereโs more to it that he doesnโt understand since heโs no mage himself.
โOf course, thatโs only if you prefer to wield a physical weapon. Magic or magic weapons are more efficient for taking them down, so itโs up to you to decide which would be best to focus your efforts on.โ Kris smiles then; itโs a small thing, but itโs there, tugging at the corners of his mouth. โShould you want for a partner to train with in either case, Iโll be glad to help.โ
ย ย ย ย โEr, uh... yeah. Something like that. I like to tinker with things, you could say,โ Lapis tries to answer Kris. It's hard to know how much to say, given how many nobles are knights, so she doesn't linger on the topic of her own volition, letting her steps' increased pace out of the market and on the way back simultaneously chase her out of that topic of conversation.
To her relief, Kris has not only followed her but also taken her up on her request. Her voice finds its cheer again more easily then.
โHm...โ
At the same time, although she had been the one to ask, upon being pressed to give a more specific starting point, she suddenly finds the idea overwhelming. Should she ask for more information on how Archaneans fought as a soldier herself? Should she ask for more information on the real Marth?
In the end, the topic she decides upon is:
โWhat was life like normally for you? Y'know. You're like me where you moved from your home to the castle to become a knight, right? I can't help but wonder what it was like then for you,โ A fellow outsider, she thinks but doesn't say.
(He gets the impression thereโs something she isnโt saying behind that answer, but it seems rude to pry too deeply when sheโs doing him a favor and all. Better to just let it be as they walk back to the castle.)
Kris blinks, having perhaps expected Lapis to ask for more details about Prince Marth considering, well, his Emblem counterpartโs existence. Archaneaโs geography and history had also ranked a good deal higher than his life prior to earning his knighthood, yet itโs the latter sheโs interested in โ though he supposes he can understand why with the common ground they share. There is still a lot they donโt know about each other beyond it, and it isnโt like heโs opposed to sharing.
โI grew up in a small village for most of my life, so youโre right about that.โ But would he call it home? Thatโs harder to say. โMy grandfather was a knight of Altea though, and I wanted to be just like him. That meant training every dayโโ worked to the bone until it became second nature, learning and refining what heโd learned in a seemingly endless loopโ โon top of chores and studying whatever else he could teach me before he died.โ
And then Altea was betrayed, invaded and occupied during the War of Shadows. He, like many others at the time, could only endure and hope for the return of Prince Marth to reclaim his kingdom and liberate his people.
โI was mostly capable of looking after myself by then, butโฆโ Thereโs a distant look in his eyes as he trails off for a moment. โโฆOur house felt different with only myself living in it, I suppose.โ
Like something was missing, only he knew exactly what it was and that there was nothing he could really do about it. Leaving had just made it easier to avoid thinking about.
There are very few secrets Katarina keeps from Kris; in truth, though perhaps she cannot recall any others in current circumstances, she can think of only two. The first? --well, there's no need to think on it. She will close a flame-warped palm around it until nothing remains might ever trouble him. And the second? Oh, it is a terrible thing indeed, that the thing she takes the most pride in is not being a worthy lord's knight.
"...You're my friend, too."
She might have laughed, had she the strength for it, a soft and tickled thing that dances on the amusement of stating something so obvious, the most important and least sufficient truth. Instead she watches his eyes in between beats of fretting, silently, over wounds she's already tended to.
"The first friend I made as..." She stumbles through her words in a want to reach him through them, audacious enough to attempt to mirror his own. "As..." As Katarina, she almost says, but somehow, it doesn't feel enough -- not enough to earn the forgiveness he had always afforded her, and not enough to put light back in his eyes. She was a child raised in the dark, and that was how she hurt him.
At the other end of the labyrinth. In that wild, burning forest. And... when she had placed her throat at the point of a sheathed sword and begged for death. Don't say you couldn't protect me. Aren't I the one who did this to you...?
"...as... the person I wanted to be." There is no thought of fluster or misunderstanding; she reaches for his hair and brushes it aside, a gentle touch that tries, desperately, to ease the tension in the brow beneath.
"So... don't be sorry." She begs him again, asks cruel things of him again, knowing he will bear the burden anyway; it's what he's always done. "...Don't be sorry. I can be Katarina... I, I can be me... because of you. No one..." She holds down the tears in her eyes, swallows the quiet crack in her voice; later, she can mourn the brother and sister who deserved to be protected, too. But right now, her first friend, her best friend...
In truth, merely calling her his first friend after leaving Sera doesnโt do the particular depth of their relationship justice. The Seventh Platoon โ Katarina, Luke, Rody, Ryan, and Cecil are all his first lasting friends, but there has always been something a little more special (for lack of a better term) between just the two of them. Something a little tighter-knit in spite of the deception, the betrayal, the long year and then some they spent apart before he welcomed her back, filled the hole sheโd left behind.
His first friend; his closest friend. The sole individual aside from their shared liege whom he would truly do anything for, he thinks. So he forgives her, and forgives her, and forgives herโ
And goes terribly soft himself, looking almost pained by the tenderness of the gesture before tilting his head to lean into it. She deserves better, always has; he should be the one soothing her hurts rather than the other way around. As the person I wanted to be only proves what he has always known when Krisโs arm around Katarina tightens, normally bright eyes reminiscent instead of the sea on overcast days.
How could he not be sorry then, for not being strong enough or fast enough or anything that could have prevented her from dying (even if only temporarily) enough?
โYouโre giving me too much credit,โ he murmurs. โI justโฆโ
โฆwant you to be happy.
Thatโs what it boils down to, doesnโt it? Because his heart aches to see her be anything less knowing even just a little of the cruelty sheโd experienced in the past.
โโฆYouโre worth protecting. Always have been.โ
the tower heaved vehemently, as a ballista took out a heaping chunk of the stairs below them. the pegasi on the roof took off without them, and the railing that typically guided them down crumbled before long. they should have stayed on the ground. they really should have stayed on the ground.
"head down first! i'll be right behind you." he cupped his mouth so Kris could hear him over the sounds of an adjacent tower collapsing. brick by brick, dust to dust, their own tower was approaching the same fate, he feared. quickly, he rushed to grab his satchel, lamenting on the fact that the pegasi were too far away for him to call back.
hustling away from the roof, where he was all but vulnerable to archers, he made his way down behind his experienced partner. "i suspect you're quick on your feet? i suppose this'll test our mettle!"
โI can see that!โ Surprise quickly gives way to a grim frown; that their enemies would go this far just to be rid of themโฆ Trying to make use of the guard tower was a bad call then, and with the pegasi having fled without their riders, spooked by the thunderous boom of siege weapons punching holes through the masonry, it might take something close to a miracle for them to escape this predicament in one piece. Kris doesnโt need to be told twice when Ferdinand calls for him to descend their crumbling perch first.
The stairs look like theyโve seen better days though, no thanks to the aforementioned siege weapons. Haste and caution guide his pace in relatively equal measure to avoid injury or worse along the way, greatly familiar with the sense of urgency brought about by danger nipping at his heels (made it out alive again and again, against the odds). Stormy gaze flits toward the daylight bleeding through from outside โ the ballistae are one thing, devastating but with long pauses between their bolts at least. The archers poised to snipe them during those intervals are another. If their aim is even half as good as the bowmen he knowsโฆ
He nearly doesnโt hear Ferdinand behind him. โSure, butโ Less talking, more running!โ
Of course, this is the exact moment the floor chooses to collapse. Just what they needed. Kris bites down on a curse as he reaches back to grab Ferdinand and yanks him forward, hoping it will be enough to even just narrowly escape falling together with the broken stone where their feet had just been.
In the peace of twilight, he rests his hand above the first orb, iridescent sheen casting his sleeve in faint light. It hums, quiet, and he sees it reflected in silver: a face like his own, lips twisted to obscure dissatisfaction with its empty smile and whimsical ears. So he has arrived home, he muses. It would be best if he could ensure that this mirror could stay home โ that fate would not uproot it once more.
Steel collects behind his mask as he stares at the reflection. Nausea that had lingered within his core now spills as it floods his mouth with the taste of bitters. And still, he forces, "By Embla's will, close the way."
It dims. It is difficult for him to see the face now. "Close the sky. Close the stone. Close it all." It folds in on itself, warping the silhouette until it is no longer recognizable. His breath wavers, unsteady, while the pressure around his chest mounts. "Become... alone."
The destruction is silent. In a matter of mere seconds, the orb has collapsed on itself until it becomes a mere speck of dust, lost to the wind. All that remains is the wash of blood in buzzing ears, a hand that hovers over air, and eyes that flicker out to catch the lingering trace of pink โ just before it all turns dark.
This, he thinks, he knows, must be the right course; and at the next gleam of light, he pivots on his heel and chases despite the churn in his gut.
He is careless this time around, choosing to close another when the sun is still fully up in the skies. The consequences are made clear as quickly as the orb vanishes โย footsteps force his head to snap back toward the entrance of the greenhouse, and Bruno wonders how much this man must have heard. How much does he have to explain; how much would be understood, if he even tried skirting close to the truth?
No, no โ that is a last resort.
His mouth opens. His tongue is dry, sandpaper as it grates against his teeth in search of the right story. There is no choice but for Bruno to take his own gamble here.
"These orbs," the frown comes naturally, and he waves at empty air, "have a strange tendency to disappear when I near them. A shame, truly โ I had been hoping to conduct some research of my own."
Pause. "You would not happen to know the cause of such behavior, would you?"
He had glimpsed something like a vision once, a long time ago. Flashes of lives that werenโt his but could have been, might have been if he or others around him had chosen differently at various junctures; jarring and rapid-fire in their assault upon his senses before being abruptly snapped back to reality. To bitter grief and tears that refused to so much as gather. Left with hardly much time afterward to process the ordeal let alone everything else regarding that mission, in the end heโd shelved the memory for laterโto dwell on briefly, then let dull with the passage of days, weeks, months as life went on.
It tended to be Kris who warned those he cared for against lingering overlong on what-ifs, after all. On pasts that no amount of wishing could change, for better or worse.
(He also tended to be a hypocrite when it came to following his own advice, though.)
There was nothing what-if however about having to fend off his own assassination attempt.
Sparks flew as he drew his sword at record speed to intercept the blade seemingly intent on separating his head from his shoulders, tension and silence in one shattered by the violent clash of steel against steel. He hadnโt been able to shake off the feeling of someone watching him, following him that had begun at some point during his patrol shiftโsomeone who didnโt seem to be just another Knight of Seiros or a monastery resident sneaking around at night. Itโs good to know he was right to keep his guard up if this was what had been lying in wait for himโ
โWhatโฆ? Youโreโโ
โโฆโฆ!!โ
Kris shakes his head as though to expel that particular memory by force. Heโd managed to deal with it on his own, and unless he were to tell someone what happened of his own volitionโฆ
The greenhouse doors make little noise when he enters, intending to check on the vegetable plots while he has time to spare. Sea-blue eyes gravitate toward the figure sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the plants; it quickly becomes apparent that he is witnessing something he shouldnโt, albeit only the tail end. Should he try to feign ignorance and move on? Question the other manโs connection(?) to the orb(s)?
(If he had a gold coin for every time heโs been suspicious of men who wear masks to conceal their identity, he would have two.)
Heโs beaten to the punch, surprisingly. โโฆNo, but I believe I have an idea of what it may be. Will that suffice?โ
Their hands slot together like vice and virtue, like unrepentant sin and its undeserved absolution.
(In truth: Niles dislikes it. The proximity. The handicap. There is no one he trusts to keep by his blind side, and only a precious few he would allow regardless.
Kris is not one of them. Kris isโ)
"Woof," he drawls, slow and low, with the kind of smile he knows that men of proper stature hate. "Just my luck, to be shackled to His Great and Royal Majesty's most eager dog. I'd show you how much I missed you, but you're holding proof of it rather tightly..."
Which really is a shame, isn't it? He's mostly certain that Kris would prefer to cross blades with him than to be stuck holding his hand, but who knows? Maybe the years have mellowed him, pulling fang and claw until he is left with nothing but the aching gums of a beast left to rotโor maybe they haven't, and Niles will soon find himself at the end of a very unfriendly blade.
At this point, he's not quite sure which he'd rather see.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately for Niles, Kris wouldnโt find this situation any less awkward and uncomfortable with a different partner.
There are compromises he is able and willing to make for the duration of it. Restricting his usual training to one-handed weapons, for example, and adapting to the otherโs schedule as best he can given their differing occupations. The point of having his hand magically bound to that of an apparent trouble-makerโs is to encourage better behavior from the latter, after all; heโs always endeavored to do the right thing as a knight and as a person, hence his part in this attempt at a more effective punishment he didnโt entirely volunteer for.
But heโs only human in the end, and that fact rears its head horribly the moment the spell takes hold and he is indeed physically unable to pull his left hand free. He doesnโt like the proximity, much less with someone he trusts about as far as he can throw. Which would be decently far if he tried, actually, so forget that. At least itโs his left and not his right. His right is the one with the outer glove that fully covers it though, which would have spared him the skin-on-skin contact he is becoming increasingly aware of the longer he thinks about it.
โAm I, now,โ Kris replies flatly, eyes narrowed when he looks up from their clasped hands to bore into Nilesโs remaining one. โThatโs a shame. I hadnโt expected you to bother with remembering me.โ
He really hadnโt. It wasnโt like heโd wanted to recognize Niles on sight either, metaphorical hackles raised almost immediately in true guard dog fashion, as if entire years hadnโt passed since the last time theyโd crossed paths.
Reese had heard, once, that if you slept very well you might wake in the morning feeling dazed, or maybe even heavy. Not that she'd had the opportunity back then to ask what separated a good heavy sleep from a sick one -- but she supposes this must have been a good heavy sleep, for once. At the very least, she doesn't feel bad.
Subconsciously, her knuckles rise to gently press against her forehead as she looks around. Blinking once, twice, three times, she pulls her hazy senses back to some form of clarity, bleary crescents waxing into full moons.
That there is light enough to see means Reese isn't where she's supposed to be; neither does she recognize the stippling of trees in the fog, their shape familiar yet their arrangement anything but. She might not be far, then -- but where is she now? Memories fail to provide an answer, prompting her fingertips to dust across the back of her skull in search of one.
They come back dry, her skin unspeckled and clean beneath scrutiny. A beat passes; she exhales, finally pushing herself to her feet, creeping close to the shelter of the foliage. Silence is her only companion for what feels a long while, until a crash and a yelp from the blue unceremoniously shatters it.
At once, she ducks behind the bush hoping it will pass, but the boy-- is his knee bleeding?-- leverages a large branch in her direction, clearly ready to use it.
"Eek!" Somehow the ordeal of being known compels her to squeak in response. Still, she instinctively shrinks behind the bush before peeking over it again a few seconds later. "I-I'm sorry, I was..." Pausing uncertainly, she tentatively searches his face -- finds a litany of new red scrapes, and a pair of bright blue eyes.
"Um... Lost..." Straightening up just a bit more, Reese lays a hand curled over her heart. "Excuse me... a-are you hurt?"
In hindsight, raising his voice as he just did could attract more danger instead. The amount of noise heโs made in general over the past few minutes has probably given away his position to anything or anyone nearby that could be a threat, and all he has to defend himself with are a tree branch and his wits. He has so much to learn from his grandfather still if heโs to become a knight of Altea somedayโswordsmanship to refine, tactics to studyโฆ
He needs to find his way back. MacLear is a stern man, rarely affectionate and sparing with his praise, but even he will surely worry if Kris is gone for too long. Theyโre each otherโs only family; thatโs how itโs always been throughout Krisโs admittedly not-very-long life, just the two of them in their little house in the village. Being scolded for disappearing without warning is wholly preferable to never seeing his grandfather again.
But all that peeks up from behind the bushes is a girlโs head. Or at least he thinks sheโs a girl, going off the sound of her voice when she answers him.
โโฆJust a few scrapes,โ he mutters, lowering his improvised weapon ever so slightly. Said scrapes still sting a bit (more than just a bit, really, but heโs getting better at toughing out his hurts the more of them he accumulates), but he puts on a brave face to mask the fact as he stares back, drawn first to the vibrant violet of the other kidโs hair and then to gray eyes timidly peering up at him from below. Definitely not features heโs seen before, even in passing, so she isnโt from Sera. One of the neighboring villages, maybe?
(If theyโre still in Altea at all. Itโs difficult to have a concept of Anywhere Else when youโve never so much as left the countryside.)
โYou said you were lost, right? Where are you from?โ The tree branch in his grip dips another inch; heโs been warned against judging people by appearances alone, but the longer he looks at her the harder it is to believe she could mean any harm. Heโs as lost as she is, even if he wonโt admit it as readily.
Either they can find their respective ways back alone, or they can do it together.
[Secret Shop] โ He's curious for sure, especially since this one is located in a relatively normal spot (why was one of the ones back home in the desert part of Anri's Way. the path literally known for being inhospitable to human life??) for people to access. Is he curious enough to fake being in a relationship just to get inside after spending entire years denying the possibility of ever having a Real romantic relationship? Uhhh. He'll sell the act as best he can if your muse really really wants to see the goods? (I will be rolling dice for each of his attempts with a disadvantage modifier so either he will flop spectacularly or become the rizzler.)
[Handholding] โ He was practically a model student when he attended the Officer's Academy (graduated as of a little over a year ago) and is pretty much the same as a Knight of Seiros, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's thrilled about having one of his hands magically bound to someone else's, troublemaker or not. Not being able to let go is going to drive him up the wall actually. Kris refuses to let it stop him from going about the week like normal though, so in the worst-case scenario your muse is getting dragged along by force because this man never skips gym day.
You can reach me via Discord (username whitewolfreed, DMs preferred) or Tumblr IMs here. Thank you for your time.
Even after so many years of attending Garreg Mach and all its odd expeditions -- so many years of living life outside of a castle, outside of that tower -- Maria finds herself woefully lacking in both knowledge and experience. The latter can be expected to a degree, but the former feels like trying to scoop a leaf from a pond: wishfully reaching for it only to have it cleverly slip past her just when she thinks she has it.
...Kris is good at lighting a fire, and it proves a tremendous boon to both her curiosity, and-- well, also their general well-being after the sudden onset of a blizzard. She hasn't the knack for lighting a fire the traditional way; magic had always been the swifter, more natural method to her once she had learned it.
"That was so fast...!" Shifting her weight forward onto her toes, the little princess dares not shed the cloak he'd offered her just earlier -- not yet, at least. Palms pin a corner of cloth between palm and boot, and like some strange bat-creature, Maria shuffles closer to the fire, laughing into her hands once she finishes moving, still safely swaddled in her cocoon.
"Hmm..." She hums a note that lapses into silence as she watches him move about. "Maybe just a bit? I think I have stuff in my bag, too!" --if much less sensible, truth be told, but it had still been an earnest effort. Flashing an easy grin, she dares to hold her hands up, near to her shoulders (which is as much as she dares to hold out the cape, cold as it is).
"What about you, Kris? Aren't you chilly?" At that, a singular notch of almost-sternness dents the space between her brows, a finger pointed defiantly. "Tell me if you are, okay? We can share the best we can -- and if you try to tell me you're not cold, then I won't wear it at all!" The clerical furrow holds-- and holds-- and holds-- and then gives way, again, to a lopsided smile. "It'd be silly to hog the cloak when it's warmer to share, don't you think? Hee hee!"
So fast, she says, but itโd be a different story had the flintstone turned out to be no good or the kindling too damp after all. He canโt count on someone like Sir Abel coming to the rescue againโitโs just himself and Princess Maria, effectively trapped a ways from the trail that would have led them back down the mountain before the storm blew in.
Well, she could use magic to light the fire instead in that case, and it would be even faster if so, but fortunately thereโs no need this time. Still, knowing how to start one the magic-less way is a useful skill to have; he ought to teach her should the opportunity present itself at some pointโฆ
โAnd if I were to say that the cold really doesnโt bother me very much? What would you do then?โ Thereโs a flicker of mirth in sea-dark eyes, the corners of Krisโs mouth subtly upturned. Her seemingly perpetual cheer is an infectious thing, and heโs never claimed to possess immunity to it; hasnโt had much time to develop any to begin with. It is true though that heโs mostly fine as is, likened to a human hearth whenever someone got close enough to notice (rare, because he isnโt a very touchy person). With the fire helping to stave off winterโs last hurrah in the meantime, heโs content to allow her the luxury of having the cloak to herself.
โIt would be even sillier for you to potentially fall ill because you chose not to wear it,โ he remarks with a huff, pulling the previously-mentioned food and water from his pack and extending it towards Maria in offering. โBut if you insist, I promise to tell you should it indeed grow chillier. I swear on my honor as a knight of Altea.โ
Kris never does anything in half-measures, at the very least.
--in her own way she asks, and he obliges. He always does, with care far beyond anything she could ever deserve. To that hesitant, unspoken question Kris makes a place for her, where she belongs.
Where the veins of words left unsaid laid heavy in her throat, deep within her earth, her voice crackled and broke; where tears threatened to spill over, her eyes bitterly stung; and where guilt coiled into her heart, into the core of herself, a blistering, consuming heat -- it simply melts, beneath the warmth of his hand in hers, and slips through her fingers. The tension she'd yet to realize she was holding ebbs, and when divested of that which had propelled her, Katarina... relaxes.
Allowing her head to lay placidly against him, a slow, weary breath wrenches itself out of her throat. Lashes flutter shut; time and again, Kris teaches her how the dark does not have to be a cold and suffocating thing.
Her other hand slips beneath his, wrapping the hand left in her grasp in what warmth she may offer in turn. And, perhaps, she might find comfort in this proof he's still alive -- proof she offers to him in kind, hearing the way words fail him as well. She would be honored to be so undeservedly cherish, were it not that it broke her heart to wound his.
"I couldn't protect you." She begins where his words end, usurping his tale of loss with a tale of fire, or maybe faith. Though before she continues, she brushes a thumb over his palm in question. An invitation to stop her from talking, should he need it.
It doesn't come. "There was a version of you in the place I went," she murmurs. "Rusalka. I knew it wasn't the version of you that... I know. But I still wanted to protect him. And... I couldn't." Without realizing it, fingers curl over his hand protectively, remembering how they had felt when absent of life. "But he protected me, even after he was gone."
A pause. When she speaks again, tears of a different kind distort her voice, quietly breaking.
"You always find me, Kris." You save me, more than you know.
Had he the capacity for it, Kris might have shivered in response; the point of contact between thumb and palm as gentle as it is thoughtful and more than he deserves in the moment. Everything about this is, really, and yet he cannot find it in him to hesitate after enduring so much just to return to Katarinaโs side in the first place. (Heโs exhausted, loath as he is to admit it to even himself, and for once he feels no great urge to move when the only thing he wants is right beside him.)
So he listens to her speak without pause on his end. He tries to picture in his mind what this other version of him must have been like, which aspects remain the same and which differ to create the distinction of โthe Kris that Katarina knowsโ and โthe Kris that isnโtโ. Was he still a knight, a swordsman? Did he seem happier, or did he keep his feelings closer to his chest?
How did he die?
It ends up a futile exercise when heโs never really been able to imagine any life for himself that isnโt the one heโs living here and now.
Instead he forgets to breathe when he feels Katarinaโs hand close around his, briefly thrown back in time to that awful moment where it had been the other way aroundโhis hands around hers for what had seemed like the first and last time, faced with the bitter reality heโd fought so hard to prevent or at least mitigate in some way. Heโs never forgotten it since, or rather he refuses to; the wound allowed to fester on bad days when no amount of training feels satisfactory, when he finds himself unwilling to let Katarina out of his sight for any reason. Those times had been growing fewer and farther between though, something like healing taking place in their steadโฆ
So much for that, huh.
โBecause youโre my friend,โ Kris answers quietly, speaking around the lump in his throat and the ache in his bleeding heart as though they donโt pain him at all. โThe first friend Iโd made as a new recruit whoโd only just gotten his feet through the gates of Altea Castle. You always stood up for me when we were part of the Seventh Platoon, like when we had to decide who would be its captain.
โI think thatโs why he protected you, Katarina. The other me probably felt the same way, and that feeling lingered even after he was gone.โ He did what I wasnโt there to do myself.
ย ย ย The greenhouse isn't that well-frequented by many in the monastery. Most would rather just buy their produce and flowers than dig through the dirt themselves, and from all the times Lapis had come here before Garreg Mach's fall, she'd noted how even the few others that came were usually preoccupied with their own personal projects. Many were quiet and seemed to prefer it that way, but despite that, it never felt intimidating.
No, it was a sort of tranquility between those with green thumbs. Even without any particular words exchanged, looking at one another's little plots made it clear all on their own just how much tender care each regular had. This place wasn't a treasure for all, but it was a treasure to her.
It was a treasure worth protecting and cultivating anew, even if it had been ravaged once. This Lapis was sure of.
So Lapis had volunteered happily to help with the restoration of the greenhouse. Once reconstruction of its shell had been mostly complete, then came the need to grow new things. The monastery had many people to feed, and many more would return soon in the coming moons. They'd need a stable food supply that could grow even in harsh conditions, tough to withstand any difficulties thrown its way in case Garreg Mach was subjected to another attack. Plus, Lapis, not being one of the Blue Lions, couldn't guarantee she'd always be available to be here since the grounds were being prioritized to that house in specific.
To this end, she knew just the trick...!
Having her own stash of seeds from her recent trip back home, she sets upon planting them in a small corner of the greenhouse, thinking she'd be away from most prying eyes as she did it. But to her surprise, someone calls out to her while she's in the middle of working.
She startles, rising from her crouching position and turns to see who it is.
โ Kris! โ ย she calls out, hoping to look less frazzled by putting on a pleasant smile and an enthusiastic wave. ย โ I didn't know you gardened! Look at you, all ready to go too. โ
'Gardened' she remembers to say. Not 'farming', which is more the actual thing she's doing. Could she pass it off as her just planting flowers...? Something cutesy, something even the nobles enjoyed here...
โIt was just another chore to take care of when I was growing up,โ Kris replies, crouching beside a marked-off plot close to the entrance to peer at the label: onions. A little early for those, isnโt it? Or at least that would be true if not for the greenhouse making it possible to grow all kinds of stuff year-round. โI still remember what to do, more or less, soโฆโ
So here he is, eyes raking over the slivers of green protruding from the soil, gloved fingers carefully probing for signs ofโฆthings that are less likely to be an issue in a contained and controlled environment. Force of habit, he supposes. Imagine if theyโd had something like this back home. โNormally you would wait until later into the autumn season to plant onions, for example, since they thrive in the cold. As long as it doesnโt get too warm in here they should be fine, though.โ
And if heโd noticed her word choice at any point into this interaction, he doesnโt comment on it; hardly worth splitting hairs over when it amounted to nearly the same thing in the end. Kris pays noticeably closer attention to the plots housing the humble beginnings of fresh fruits and vegetables though, whisked back to a childhood ostensibly left behindโto memories dulled by time and repetition, jogged into clarity because he has gone through these motions before and they will not leave the flesh so easily. Not for many more years yet, if ever.
Thatโs fine, isnโt it? Heโs never been particularly shy about his origins. Theyโd had no bearing on whether or not he was qualified to become a knight. Neither had he cared that they were the reason his room was on the bottom floor of the student dormitories (before the siege laid waste to them like it did most of the monastery).
Other people care though, and sometimes they arenโt who he might have expected to care.
โSo what is it that youโre planting over there, then? More vegetables? Herbs?โ Kris glances up and over at Lapis curiously, fingers stilling against a patch of earth with his attention diverted for the moment. He guesses flowers are an option too, but itโs hard not to see them as unimportant compared to the former given the current state of affairsโฆ
[Secret Shop] โ He's curious for sure, especially since this one is located in a relatively normal spot (why was one of the ones back home in the desert part of Anri's Way. the path literally known for being inhospitable to human life??) for people to access. Is he curious enough to fake being in a relationship just to get inside after spending entire years denying the possibility of ever having a Real romantic relationship? Uhhh. He'll sell the act as best he can if your muse really really wants to see the goods? (I will be rolling dice for each of his attempts with a disadvantage modifier so either he will flop spectacularly or become the rizzler.)
[Handholding] โ He was practically a model student when he attended the Officer's Academy (graduated as of a little over a year ago) and is pretty much the same as a Knight of Seiros, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's thrilled about having one of his hands magically bound to someone else's, troublemaker or not. Not being able to let go is going to drive him up the wall actually. Kris refuses to let it stop him from going about the week like normal though, so in the worst-case scenario your muse is getting dragged along by force because this man never skips gym day.
You can reach me via Discord (username whitewolfreed, DMs preferred) or Tumblr IMs here. Thank you for your time.
ย ย ย If someone doesn't hold active intention, are they still guilty of the act they commit? What determines guilt in the first place? For a heart that burns righteously in the name of justice, Leif too often finds himself the perpetrator of acts that do wrong by others. Too caught up in his own head, too blind to the world around him, he bounds forward without heed to the footprints his boots shall leave behind until eventually, as always happens, he looks behind him and sees he's walked all over others.
If you do not see your crimes, are there still victims?
(To pretend as if the answer to that question wasn't obvious would be a new level of ignorance even for him.)
โ I didn't mean to hide it, โ ย Leif confesses even if it feels hollow to try. But to give up on explaining himself, to go silent, feels as if it'd be the greater mistake to make now. If he stopped speaking, if he stopped reaching, would he ever get to speak like this to Kris again?
The thought fills him with dread.
โ Growing up, I wasn't supposed to tell people. And the ones who needed to know already did. I suppose I've just gotten used to not bringing it up on purpose... โ ย For all the steps he's taken, striving to some bright future, he still repeats the same actions of the person he had been in the past. ย โ And around you, I just speak my mind as it is. Was that wrong?? โ
But just as Kris surmises, a part of Leif has decided what the answer to that must be, darkening his expression further for it.
โ From the moment knights and I first meet, they never act with me the way you do... โ
If nothing else he listens, sea-dark gaze fixed on Leif and unwaveringly so throughout the latterโs explanation; an attempt to bridge the perceived rift forming between them in light of what Kris now knows. He has to admit though that it is a concept somewhat foreign to him, at least relative to his general experience with people of noble or royal blood. Just what sort of life had Leif lived prior to necessitate concealing his lineageโฆ?
Unbidden, Kris recalls: aggression and desperation when backed into a corner, which underestimating had nearly cost him once.
โItโs not wrong, exactly,โ the knight eventually settles for saying first, in part because any other response would be hypocritical knowing who his liege is. โIโm hardly in a position to criticize you for that, and I donโt intend to either.โ
But neither is it appropriate for him to continue speaking to Leif as casually as heโs been doing up to this point. Those other knights must have believed similarly, hence the frustration bubbling over now that it seems the easy air between them is at risk of changingโbecoming another source of bitter discontent for the young lord instead. Proving that Kris is no different from the rest after all, and that Leif was a fool to hope otherwise.
โBut it is true that I would have shown you more respect if Iโd known sooner,โ he continues, his expression making it clear heโs aware this may well sour matters further, โbecause itโs the proper thing to do given the difference in our positions. It isnโt something I can easily ignore even if you ask me to.โ
Not when heโs been scolded forโฆun-knightly behavior before, to his private embarrassment.
โHaving said that, thoughโฆ That doesnโt mean you canโt ask me anyway, Leif. Whatโs stopping you from trying?โ
