#〳✧ « support tag » ( MARTH. )

[duskroine]

             With no explanations capably dealt by knowledge or history, it was a truth that only the gods could offer. The evidence of his posterity come in so many shapes and sizes, men and women, swordsmen and mages, some who owned fractions of his likeness and others who seemed to hold so little. To walk the world at the same time as his many descendants was a conundrum the Hero-King long since accepted, though no doubt this would mark the first occasion where he’s been deemed so glittering an idol by one. A butting of heads beneath the mistletoe, recognition to strike one, and his reflection nigh filled the newly met Ophelia’s eyes with stars!

              “Um, I thank you for your generous words, but... I must attest that the greatness you speak of is better directed toward my allies. My place in history would not be made if not for the brave souls who shared my fight.” The strange and ticklish feeling risen from this encounter extends even further at the kiss pecked against his cheek, pointing to the nearly forgotten mistletoe as the cause. For one who had not yet even come to full terms with the idea of children, here he’s shot ahead by leaps and bounds to the far surpassed finish line--standing face-to-face with a distant descendant after a seeming multitude of skipped stairs, rungs, and steps—generations—extending far beyond his lifetime. At least there was an equally untold quantity of time to get to know the still youthful Ophelia.

               “...But you mentioned that you were called Ophelia...Dusk? How strange, that.” The important revelation is remembered of them with a chuckle, followed by the king’s shaking head as he quickly relays that such words were without intention to offend. “—We don’t share a surname! I imagine the passage of time to be the maker of such a difference, but nevertheless, it makes me wonder what we do share. The mistletoe that has gathered us here must be a blessing in disguise. Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Ophelia?”

HE IS A LIVING, BREATHING LEGEND.  a walking myth with a steady heart in his chest. he is an ancestor—   the revelation is fluid in ophelia’s head, easily escaping them in a flurry of exhilaration.  though they are not surprised at the sight of marth standing before them   (   they’ve been in the presence of both friend and foe that existed far in a different world   ), a feeling akin to shock throws their mental balance off.  a somewhat coherent string of rants spill from their lips before they have the time to shovel them back.  how could they stop themselves when the very man of heroism and legend was standing before them?  they could stomach the direct ties to their royal heritage better now that such a line of ascension aligned them as the hero-king’s descendant.

(   —   is what you’d want to believe.  there’s little excitement in the tremble of your hands, the smallest memory that he stood on a pedestal even higher than that of the chosen one’s.  if you could not compare yourself brightly to your father, then how could you respect yourself under his gaze?   )

the hero-king speaks and ophelia quickly pauses their rant to heed his words—   they can showcase their passion on marth’s final stand at a later date.  hopefully some time in the near future.   “   o-of course!  if not for the inspiration of your allies, then would you truly be the king the legends know you as.  oh— WAIT, that’s not to say that your endeavors rest fully on the backs of your allies!  unless, uh...   ”   green sways in their peripheral and with it comes an opportunity of indulgence.  so, they rise to the tips of their feet to press a kiss to marth’s cheek.  after they gesture to the plant, both ancestor and descendent freeze in place.

marth is the first to move.  ophelia startles at tone of his voice, one that is quickly dismissed of its oddness.  despite the situation before them, chosen second finds themselves calming down.  no longer does their face flush as red as earlier.  there is still tension but marth addresses them with such fondness that ophelia can’t help but relax.   “   alright then!  the tale of ophelia dusk, second of the chosen heroes, is no short myth.  unless you are limited on time.

“   if i must be honest... i don’t know my true surname.  dusk is one i chose for myself upon my ascension as a chosen one.  my father is odin— uhm, owain dark, the prince of ylisse.   ”   it is then that she almost asks for confirmation on the line of royalty.  the question of her being born far away from the kingdom she supposedly has a place in.  ...nah, that would be sentimental, too deep of a topic for a first meeting.  though when the idea is dropped, another takes its place.  ophelia unbuttons silver and pulls her sleeve up just slightly, raising her forearm enough for marth to see her brand.   “   i interrupted myself but, is this of some familiarance to you?  my father proclaimed to me once, upon my entrance into war, that it symbolized my lineage.  i never asked after that until i came here.   ”

then, again, a thought throws her off of topic.  gray eyes widen with an exclamation:   “   wait, how long have you attended garreg mach?  have i been walking the same grounds as my idol for months, unaware?!   ”

@arcstral , ask post !!