#BXLDRSDRAUMAR

[atypicalsenerio]

Glowing Up - Team Pi [Sigurd & Soren]

Water Gathering Event Starter for @bxldrsdraumar

Soren wouldn't be surprised if they all died at this rate by something mundane before any monsters or enemy forces would even reach them, but he was going to make every effort to not let that happen. Normally, he'd post himself as the organizer of group resources, but they needed the resources first before any thought of distribution could occur.

People split up to go investigate and he wandered off by himself, staying within earshot of others in case he found something.

It took him back in all the worst ways. However, he wasn't a child anymore, and he had companions- companions whom he hoped would prove to not be hindrances. Expression stony, he headed downhill, searching low for water first thing, not wasting energy by venting fears or frustrations.

What he did find at first could be viewed as a trick of the light, but even in his own shadow, the pool of water before him, just inside the mouth of a cave, glowed a pale blue. Soren shallowly splashed the surface with his palm, feeling it to be exactly as water should be but not trusting the glow. Perhaps he should look deeper, but judging by how the pond was fed, with trickles from further up the cave feeding into it, he could expect more of the same. He frowned, looking for the closest person around.

"You- Sigurd, correct?"

In their previous life, he felt they probably had a neutral-bad relationship, but that didn't matter now. In fact, he may be about to make it worse.

"I've found what I believe is water, but I'm unsure if it's drinkable. It's all that seems to be around. Would you be willing to investigate with me?"

[duskofendflame]

@bxldrsdraumar asked:

As Sigurd's eyes found the young man that was to be his next partner in this affair, he could not help but smile - he had seen the young, fresh-faced man about the monastery, an energetic and willful professor who infused the place with life. "Well met, professor!" He extended a hand to shake, the bangle of this game visible on his wrist, the mark of he who had kept his word. He saw that the young man carried one with the same mark, and his smile widened. "This game is rather easy, is it not?" He winked, teasing - he knew of course that there had been those who'd shared more unfortunate fates in the previous round, but it did not bear saying. He'd no intention of betraying a man for things greater than mere candy, and could see that Corrin was a man of similar virtue. "A joke, of course. The game is truly to get the measure of your opponent, isn't it?"

Corrin is rather relieved to see that his "opponent" for this round bears a mark that brandishes to the world that he was loyal. He would have hated to be paired up with one of the betrayers, to know that they had been cruel enough to do it once.

But the man in front of him now seems kind, and while they had not talked before, Corrin had at least seen him around the monastery, if only in passing.

"Yes, I suppose. There will always be those who are good at hiding their intentions though," He falls silent for a moment, trying to force himself to not remember the past he had lived under the thumb of Nohr's king - still not his father, "But rest assured I am not one of them! I fully intend to be your ally, Lord Sigurd!"

[hosannan]

She had thanked him, once, and he'd not any idea of who she was. It had been strange, that dissonant sensation of meaning more to someone than they did to you, to exist peripherally as a character in a fairy tale, rather than the flesh and blood man.

But as she arrived into the hall, following her uncle, her mother, trailing along the rest of her family, Sigurd understood that that sensation was merely temporary – they were disconnected by time and circumstance, but they were family, all the same.

"Young Nanna! It is Nanna, is it not? Princess?" He winked at her, and stooped to pull her into a warm embrace. His eyes creased, glittering as he pulled back to look at her fully. "Please, be most welcome, you are kin – not just as Jugdrali, but of the heart. We will get to know one another in time. Here, first - !"

He scooped from a table containing goodie bags, and placed one into her hands. The bag is of a plush sapphire velvet with braided gold drawstrings. If she were tempted to peek inside, they would find the festive goodies of the typical Chalphy holiday season: roasted nuts coated in a caramelized warming spice mixture, a hand-pulled twisted peppermint stick, decadent candied orange peel, and a holiday cracker to be pulled later with little knick-knacks within.

"Enjoy the party. Please, come to me with anything you need."

"Lord Sigurd! Yes, I--" Her gasp could have rattled half the porcelain bowls on the table, as she rose a dainty hand over her mouth. She was caught off guard with the address, wondering if he was teasing her. Giving her a moment to catch herself, Nanna gave a hearty laugh, like that of budding roses. "Young Nanna, Princess Nanna, or Just Nanna, at your service, my lord."

She fanned out her skirt in a curtsy, the laughter never leaving her eyes. "Truly? It's an honor to be in your company, let alone in your heart, sire. Hahaha!"

"Oh!" The velvet drawstring bag rested sweetly in her palms, running warmth up to her chest. Oh, how she loved this time of year. Her gaze softened, as she clasped it loosely against her heart. "Thank you..."

"And this is for you—" She felt a little shy, fingers gently clasping at a small, handwritten letter in her rucksack. She toyed with it for a moment, twiddling its corners to will herself to hand it to him. Had it been folded? Was her handwriting legible? Her wax seal marked the back with a gold 'N' inscribed in flowers. Paired with it was a sea blue package with a pocket watch inside, of the same rich color.

She beamed.

"May the holidays bring you only warmth and laughter, Lord Sigurd."

In lovely, blooming cursive was the following:

Happy Holidays, Lord Sigurd! The snow leads me down sunken roads, where many merchants in deep green smocks wrap their stalls in cured hide and glass baubles. The colored glass seems to frost over in the cold, and I think it's a sign for the year to meet its natural end. I think resting on the precipice between the end and the beginning is beautiful. It really calls to mind how far we've managed to come, and how far it takes for anyone to truly live their life to the fullest. I hope this letter doesn't take you aback; it's abrupt, yes, but I think there's something magical about writing that allows you to open a window into your heart. And once you look into that window, you'll realize that this is all entirely new to me. Lord Leif and I celebrated the holidays in Fiana, but living on humbler means meant a holiday of the same caliber. I've heard of stories from my father, of the grand holidays held in castles, and the long, sweeping tables filled with gifts and food galore. I've heard of the candles and ivy-lined walls, of the tinsel and velvet. And I've heard about you, of course. But there's nothing like experiencing it for yourself. I suppose it's nothing like living history. It's living life. And I've got you to thank for that. With great regard, Princess Nanna of Nordion

[twistedisciple]

♡  — How would your muse define love? Do they believe in soulmates? Do they believe this definition of love is achievable?

Life Philosophy HCs | not accepting

This question was also sent by @rafent

So glad you asked! This post is long overdue and would be a separate meta if I had gotten to writing it sooner.

Love is actually the reason I don't find it appropriate to label Griss as a true psychopath. He's not callous, despite his penchant for violence, and most of his actions can be attributed to his definition of love. I've drawn from three canon lines for this interpretation. The first is from the end of Chapter 23:

Zephia: [...] Why should I die in the dust, while he... While he gets everything he wanted, just like that. Does that seem fair? Now that they know about the shard, they're sure to break it... and he'll know I've met my end--that he's lost me forever. Griss: You gotta really love somebody... if you wanna hurt 'em that badly.

The second is actually from Gregory at the end of chapter 4 of the DLC, when the Winds discuss Nel's heartbreak over Alear:

Zelestia (about Nel): [...] It's only natural she might need some time to herself after that. Mauvier: Ah. I see. Gregory: People's hearts are fragile when they're in love. You gotta be gentle with them, big guy. Madeline: Sounds like you speak from experience, Gregory. Have you been in love before? Gregory: Nope. But I hear it's as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

Gregory also asserts in his S rank support with Alear that he doesn't understand what love is, and curiously shares this exchange in their A rank:

Alear: Fine. If you can’t come to terms with it, here. Take this. Gregory: Wha?! What was that? That wasn’t a punch! You just flicked my forehead. Alear: And that’s all you get. Consider that your punishment. We’ll never speak of this again. Gregory: Haha. Actually, that’s almost a nice sort of pain. I don’t mind it.

There's a running theme of pain and terror in both Griss and Gregory's concepts of love, which makes sense in the context of their abusive parents, the earliest introduction they ever had to "love." I believe that Gregory's inexperience with love and his fear of pain go hand-in-hand, so the reverse of that is Griss' obsession with pain, and therefore greater experience with love. I would argue that Griss is constantly yearning for some deeper connection with another person, and the only way he knows how to convey this feeling is through violence.

[cw physical abuse] He wants others to hit him, because his parents did, the people of the fell church did, Zephia likely did, and everyone else he's encountered and forced into this never-ending cycle ultimately did as well. He's twisted these experiences into corrections of his own failings (his parents hit him because he wasn't good enough, the sages hit him to drive out sin, Zephia hit him to teach him a lesson), and believes that these people wouldn't raise a hand against him if they didn't love him. This is in line with Zephia's belief about how children should be raised, and meeting her may even be the reason he's able to see pain in this way, but that's a topic for another post. [end cw]

While Griss has an internal concept of love, I don't think it's something he can articulate. The definition at its simplest is love = pain. This is the level that he recognizes and can talk about. However, I believe a broader definition is hidden in his actions: love is self-sacrifice. We see this in Gregory as well, since he repeatedly lets himself be hurt in order to protect those close to him. Griss' devotion to Sombron is rooted in self-harm, and while he isn't a knight making some pretty speech about his loyalty for his liege, the same sort of promise is hidden in this line at the beginning of chapter 23:

Zephia: Retreat isn't an option. I will die, if I must, to protect the shard. Griss: You? That's crazy talk. If anyone's dying today, I've got first dibs.

And confirmed at the end when he tells Zephia that he'd never leave her. I believe this is actually the very beginning of Griss' understanding of "real" love, and parallels the definition Gregory eventually settles on with Alear:

Gregory: I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t really grasp this “love” thing everyone talks about. Gregory: But if love is finding someone so important that you’re terrified of losing them, then maybe… Gregory: I… I want to be by your side, protecting you. Now and always.

Is this definition of love achievable? Yes. Although Griss is almost too far gone to ever have a long-term, stable and healthy relationship like Gregory will eventually get. This isn't something that he regrets though. At least, not at this time. More on the existential crises that come with change later though.

As for soulmates? No, absolutely not.

[lordleonster]

It was an easy thing, to drop all else that he was doing and seek out his friend upon hearing news of his arrival. Though the monastery was large and bustling, full of the comings and goings of knights and students, of those of the holy order and pilgrims, and even visitors of nearby territories, Sigurd bounded from hall to hall, scanning the crowd until he found the familiar stern gaze, the noble bearing of his best, most dearest of friends, his brother in all things. 

It had been so long ago, and yet felt as recent as any other memory that he could feel the fringes of but not quite immerse himself in, that they had been together at an academy not too dissimilar from this one. They too had wandered halls as charmed as these, joking and learning, and fighting and supporting one another in turn, forming the bond which would tether them together for the rest of their lives. 

The rest of their lives, meeting their ends not together as they'd thought, but thousands of miles apart -  

"So you have finally arrived, have you?" His voice doesn't boom or carry as it might normally – he does not know whence the tenderness comes, from the deep gut ache of his sorrow, or from the deeper love of his friend, but it matters little. This reunion is not meant for any but they. 

Sigurd had managed to dry his eyes as he ran about the monastery in his search, but as his strides took him closer he felt the welling up once again, and his voice thickened as he embraced Quan firmly, clapping his hands on the other's back and said simply, "I have missed you, my friend." 

It was an easy thing. Like breaking into a run, not of the body, but of the heart, until it broke into wind. Into pieces.

He closes his eyes, arms just as firm, just as simply— wrapped around the friend who had the world on its feet in thunderous applause. The friend that tethered by heart instead of chain, the friend who they'd write legends for, even if he would protest against it. This was the friend who would drop everything to fight, to pry, to live for you. Somehow, in his arms now, Quan feels the deep plummet of his heart, as it splits like an apple down the middle. And in Quan's arms, he holds a friend who holds the knife.

         "...Ha!" His throat is dry, on the verge of sweetness. If bittersweetness could be so sweet. "Looks like I'm not too late."

         "I hope you're alright." It's his hand now, that claps Sigurd's back, and makes the miles they've been apart feel more myth than fact. Quan feels his own ribs tighten around his pieces— a palm-sized, shaking, naked sorrow. He is on the verge of something deeper than himself, and it pleas. His heart pleas. "When you miss someone, Sigurd, it's with the whole of your spirit."

         "And you really should—" Oh. And just like that, that same heart of his falls out of the sky. There's an ocean welling in Sigurd's eyes, of the same make as a dream or a prayer. Or love, Quan thinks. Sigurd could love, has loved, does love. His brother of all things, he certainly could love. "Hold yourself dear."

         "For once, my friend, I should hope you miss me less. Now that I am here." He grins, knowing full well that between them there were no secrets. This grin of his is an offer to pull them both up by the straps of their hearts. But he chokes on the same loneliness that grips Eldigan, and on the same sorrow that sleeps by Sigurd's side.

         "For now, I shall hold you."

         His steadiness stalls the sea. And pulls the sand and mountains and the rest of the map into a fold.

         Their lives were handmade. What could distance be to a man who knew how to break into a run?

         "And I will hold you. Through wind and rain. Sigurd, you have my word."

         He suspects that his heart is no longer buried in Aed, but in the hands of a man who knew how to love. If it was to break, let it be for this.

[luminousrider]

Cry Uncle

Like everything surrounding her birth family, Altena's relationship with her lance is complicated. Meeting Leif and Finn, seeing their faces and hearing their words was enough to convince her that she was not who she was raised to believe she was. But holding the Gae Bolg, feeling the very blood in her veins react to it, and knowing its history is irrefutable, physical proof. She is Quan's daughter. She is the princess of Leonster.

But as strange as it feels wielding this weapon sometimes, Altena does know that she has to take care of it. That was something her father--her adoptive father--made sure she learned early. It didn't matter if it was a wooden training lance or a holy weapon. She had to respect it and maintain it or it could cost her her life and the lives of those she's meant to protect. So she sits on the floor of the training hall, Gae Bolg in one hand, polishing cloth in the other.

She doesn't expect to be left alone. It is a public room after all. So it doesn't surprise her when someone walks in and she barely glances up from her work.

@bxldrsdraumar

[boundlesschaos]

The mask was an oddity, but the girl did not seem to mean any harm, floating about the party and mingling as any other. Sigurd's eyes creased with his smile as he lowered the tray down for her to select from. "Hello, child. I hope you're still hungry - please, take all you'd like. Our chef has outdone himself, I believe."

The platter is displayed with a variety of finely roasted poultry meats, cooked in a traditional Chalphy style of one-within-the-other. The skin of the turkey is crispy, and the fats from the duck have marinated both the chicken within and the turkey without. There are cloves and lemon slices studding the plate, combining to form a melange of rich flavors. The choice of which piece to take is up to the feaster – there is plenty to go around!

Cocking his head, Sigurd allowed himself a closer look at the girl - she wasn't one that he had seen much about the monastery, but he supposed that did not mean much in the face of it. It was a shame, that he did not interact much with the student body.

"We - my sister and I - must thank you for coming here, for letting us share our joy and our traditions with you. For all we know you might have hated any single thing," he added with a laugh, "but I hope you've enjoyed yourself, my dear. Perhaps in the near future, we might call upon each other with confidence as friends."

At the time, she didn't think much of it. He was another person in the sea of people that took part in this event - an important person for that event, yes, but still someone that Niamh still had simply provided a small nod at the exchange they had.

But on the inside, the thoughts in Niamh's head were turning. There was much that she learned from this experience! The traditions that she got to see first hand, and the melting pot of cultures that gathered around these traditions, had given her a wide variety of data on the gatherings that might be held. To understand this further, she would even make the efforts to record the information and, once the event was over, would find herself pouring over her notes back home. "...ah." She would realize, several hours after she had returned home; "I didn't say thanks...." That particular gesture was important. She wasn't sure if she had made a mistake here or not.

But, he said that they could be friends. As long as she kept that to heart, she'll find a way to return his kindness. His, as well as Ethlyn's... But in order to do so, more research was necessary.

[nagaficat]

Forget-me-nots

As the Ethereal Ball is only a little ways away, students and staff are doing their best to prepare via dancing lessons, outfit shopping, and event planning. This year a vendor arrives in town with a wagon full of flowers from all over the world in full bloom. They're quite the romantic though, so luckily for you, they're even offering corsage and boutonniere lessons. gift your crush, significant other, sworn enemy, or whoever it may be a lovely floral arrangement that you hand-picked and handmade! They won't judge if it looks ugly, but.. maybe the person next to you is better at arranging.

Since Sigurd's miraculous recovery and arrival in Fódlan, Deirdre is rarely found anywhere but at his side. Even if it has only been a matter of moons since she remembered having lost him, it still feels as though they have a lifetime of time apart they must now make up for.

And there is a tiny voice in the back of her head that warns if she strays too long from his presence she will lose him again.

She clings tighter to his arm as the thought surfaces while they stroll together through the local marketplace.

The unpleasantness is easily tucked away as she notices the large wagon overflowing with all sorts of colorful, freshly cut flowers. Her eyes widen and she grins at her husband before grabbing his hand and dragging him behind her as she skips toward the vendor. Quick to notice how lovestruck the couple before them is, the vendor is eager to offer the supplies and assistance needed in crafting a corsage and boutonniere with the purchase of any flowers.

"It's not often that I have the pleasure of serving a couple that so clearly belongs together!" they explain, clapping their hands together excitedly.

Deirdre turns to Sigurd, eyes twinkling and sets her hands against his chest. "Can we, my lord?"

@bxldrsdraumar

[reddragonprincess]

"Well met, my lady, I don't believe we've had the pleasure." Sigurd dipped into a bow as he extended the platter to the red-haired lady. The platter is displayed with a variety of finely roasted poultry meats, cooked in a traditional Chalphy style of one-within-the-other. The skin of the turkey is crispy, and the fats from the duck have marinated both the chicken within and the turkey without. There are cloves and lemon slices studding the plate, combining to form a melange of rich flavors. The choice of which piece to take is up to the feaster – there is plenty to go around!

"I'm acquainted with your brother - a bit rough around the edges, that one, but I believe that I've begun to get under his skin." He winked, his grin widening. He'd had dealings with Michalis before, and rather liked the man as a friend - certainly, he'd had gruffer friends - and it did not escape his notice that he seemed to be enjoying himself at the party.

"I hope that you and he have found this a pleasant evening, my lady. Truly, things of these nature are quite the effort, but always worth it in the end to see the smile on a friend's face. Or, I suppose, the smile on his sister's." A laugh, his head cocking. "But I do expect you and I shall become as fast friend, as well, if you've the inclination. Please, we must sit to tea after this, and get acquainted."

As the evening was coming to an ending, a very fine gentleman approached the Macedon Princess, sharing a very pleasing smile as well as a very gallant introduction: he was one of the main organizator of the party apparently and despite the gentle manners, he did seem to be very at ease with foreign guests, especially having to deal with her brother Michalis. She was well aware of the fact that he was at Garreg Mach Monastery far longer that she was, but she was sure that, aside for him, she could manage to get acquainted pretty easily with everyone around the monastery, especially the ones dealing with chivalry and trainings.

“My utter pleasure, Sir Sigurd” she exchanged a radiant smile, bowing her head a little as to reciprocate the courtesy in his manners, “It’s truly lovely how you managed to organize such event, with so many offerings and delicacies” she hinted at the nearby tables, sharing a quick laugh as she returned her gaze towards him. “And obviously I can be more than happy to be sharing a lively evening like this with a part of my family” she hid the bit of uneasiness she felt in saying those words with such lightness, but she didn’t want to ruin the splendid and festive atmosphere that had created all around them –and after all, he was absolutely right, his brother Michalis was actually enjoying the little party and even if it did pain a lot, she was truly happy to see his brother in a good mood, it warmed her heart.

“I’m more than happy to meet you for a tea after this beautiful party, we certainly have much to share about our pasts and passions” she dared, actually knowing nothing that could bring her close to him, except from the apparent royal lineage and the chivalrous spirit –they had to deepen the acquaintance!

“I’ll be happily waiting for your invitation!”

[reprisalet]

"My friend, for you." Sigurd dipped into a bow for the winged man, and proudly set the plate before him as he rose. As he indicated that he is of a diet that does not eat meat, the hosts have prepared a special main course just for him. The texture and look of the thing is nearly identical to the display of meats, but it is made from plant-produce, stuffed with a hearty bread-and-nut dressing, and coated in a rich mushroom gravy. The smell is as rich and decadent as anything else being served. "It is my understanding that those of your constitution have certain restrictions, but I believe that this is sufficient to not only not be of danger to you, but also to be satisfying. Our chef is quite the miracle worker."

He did not know Reyson, intimately or otherwise, but he had seen his fellow knight about the monastery. A curious profession, for a curious fellow - though he seemed dedicated, dutiful, there was a melancholy about him that Sigurd had scarce seen in a man his age.

And rage, too.

Undeterred, Sigurd smiled, his eyes creasing. "And well met, I suppose - I hope that you have enjoyed your evening here. My apologies that I have not until this moment had the time to attend to you - I've never been good at this hosting business! But, perhaps after all this through, we can spend the time to get to know one another - as comrades, yes, but as friends in truth."

"why thank you."

though the party had been interesting overall, reyson was most impressed by how the host still seemed to maintain good cheer. few people have the sort of strength of spirit that lends itself to smiling even after a long night of hosting.

he gladly accepted the dish, curious as to how things that were not meat could come to look so convincing. there would be time to inquire about it later, he supposed. for the moment, well, he could not wait to dig in.

he did not know sir sigurd beyond their shared profession, complexities seemed to follow the man wherever he went. he always seemed to be at the center of something. reyson was curious, but not judgmental.

"worry not, i make no claim to your time, with so many to attend to. it's enough that we got to meet this evening at all, you seemed so busy."

he smiled back, warmly. perhaps sir sigurd could use a galdr to help ease some of the strain of hosting, he thought, but did not make the offer.

"i hope we can speak someday in the future, however."

[aurheatum]

"Your Grace, My Lady Archbishop." His bow was low, and perhaps a bit ostentatious; one of the first jokes they'd established as friends. He let out a laugh as he rose, and presented the selection of food to her. The platter is displayed with a variety of finely roasted poultry meats, cooked in a traditional Chalphy style of one-within-the-other. The skin of the turkey is crispy, and the fats from the duck have marinated both the chicken within and the turkey without. There are cloves and lemon slices studding the plate, combining to form a melange of rich flavors. The choice of which piece to take is up to the feaster – there is plenty to go around!

"It is difficult to say what I am most thankful for, of you, my lady. I would of course be remiss if I did not mention this gift of second life that you have given to me. I am with my family again. But, of course, I suppose you mightn't have known what it would have meant to me that you have been watching over my son in his time here, nor the gift of being with him has presented to me." He would mention it, but not dwell, for its enormity still made him dizzy sometimes, and they had not yet even begun to work through the ramifications of her magicks.

Still, he was not about to let the moment go dour. A smile spread across his face, the dawning of a sun in before her radiance. "No, the obvious is there, staring back at me, isn't it? I am thankful not merely for what you have done for me, but for what you are - and you are my friend. I trust - I hope - that I may call myself yours in kind, for I value you not as Archbishop, as tender to this flock - but as the woman, the lady Rhea. I hope we many have many happy returns together, my friend. Thank you."

The archbishop had, over her long life, had leave to share secrets with many a person but laughter? Now, that was much rarer, and for Rhea who had a secret for every holy day of the year it required much more trust.

She realizes, as she raises her cutlery without a second thought, that she does indeed trust Sigurd; perhaps it is the treacherous part of her that has always felt too close to those she’s tended, or perhaps it is the radiance she finds in a man who has lost his home so thoroughly but never his love for his family.

“Though I am honored by it there is no need to keep such a curated list, for living side by side as we do at Garreg Mach is it not natural we should do each other a good turn each day? You have paid us all here back in full with your diligence.” She pauses to take him in fully, and hands clasped to her chest says softly: “yes, a friend to Sir Sigurd of Chalphy is a title I am sure I can be proud of.”

[aimlessarchery]

There was a moment of tension, a thread almost palpable as Sigurd approached Python to serve him his meal. He didn't speak for a moment, merely extended the platter of meats for the other man to select, his face bland, his head cocked. The platter is displayed with a variety of finely roasted poultry meats, cooked in a traditional Chalphy style of one-within-the-other. The skin of the turkey is crispy, and the fats from the duck have marinated both the chicken within and the turkey without. There are cloves and lemon slices studding the plate, combining to form a melange of rich flavors. The choice of which piece to take is up to the feaster – there is plenty to go around!

And then, when they made eye contact, Sigurd smiled.

"We have, perhaps, gotten off on the wrong foot." They had, it was not a thing to deny, but his noble manners reared up to take charge - for a time he could not have said he preferred Sir Python, but knew that Deirdre did, knew that Sir Forsyth did, and for a time, he could not fathom such a thing.

But, in spite of himself, and in spite of the other man's best efforts, Python's true character came forth. It did not shine, as Sigurd's did, open and on his sleeve for all to see - but dim, close to the vest, as, he supposed, a good sniper must behave.

"I must thank you for coming, Sir Python. We are not friends, but I suspect we could be, in time. In my absence, I know that you have watched over those I love - and others, it seems. You are more than your dour demeanor - oh, worry not, I haven't any intention of spilling your secrets," he added with a wink, "but know that I have the cut of your jib, and that I will take it to heart."

Sigurd smiles as he meets Python's eyes, and he does his utmost not to balk at the sincerity sparkling within. By Python's estimations, Deirdre could mistake a tyrant for a saint if he spoke sweetly enough. With her shining knight standing right before him, though, her description seems accurate enough. Perhaps two besotted fairytale characters really could find each other. Stranger things have happened. Gods, did he just wink at him? He breaks the eye contact abruptly to glance down at the platter before him. Fork outstretched, he claims one of the pieces of meat closest to himself and slides it onto his own plate. "You've got me all figured out before we've even become friends? Pretty impressive talent there. If I had any secrets to keep, I'd be keeping 'em close to my chest around you. " He smiles back, lips crooked and head cocked to one side. An idle hand drifts toward his glass and swirls the drink within. "I don't hate you, if that's what you're worried about. You know good food and good drink." His glass is raised slightly higher, tilted in a minuscule salute to his host. "That's a likeable trait in my book."

[amitieos]

"Professor! You look lovely, as always – thank you for coming, my dear." Sigurd swooped to greet her at the door, his arms wide for a brief embrace, pressing a familiar kiss to either cheek. Though he could not claim intimate familiarity with the woman, the Lady Elincia had been a consistent orbit around his life, and had a kind word for all – and, indeed, the reverse was true as well.

He reached to grab a goodie bag to provide to her. "Please, for you – a gift! From my home. I hope you enjoy them." The bag is of a plush sapphire velvet with braided gold drawstrings. If he were tempted to peek inside, he would find the festive goodies of the typical Chalphy holiday season: roasted nuts coated in a caramelized warming spice mixture, a hand-pulled twisted peppermint stick, decadent candied orange peel, and a holiday cracker to be pulled later with little knick-knacks within.

"I know I can count on you to shine some light on this party – so please! Enjoy, and have a wonderful time. You must inform me if you have need of me – no! Do not deny me this, please, I insist."

"Oh, Lord Sigurd! What a warm welcome, thank you for hosting such a wonderful event." Elincia replies with a beaming smile, glancing around at the festive decorations and tables behind Sigurd. Of course, she expected such a charismatic gentleman to be well-loved by his colleagues and the student body alike. The dining room is bustling with life, smiling faces in every direction. How considerate it was for Lord Sigurd and Lady Ethlyn to host so many people. Lord Sigurd was known for being an exceptionally kind man. A person she often thought of fondly and would consider herself blessed to know more closely in time. "It seems everyone is already having a lovely time. I doubt it needs anymore shine but I'm pleased to be here all the same."

"Ah, what a thoughtful gift! I'm afraid my own is far less considerate. Still, I hope it is to your tastes my friend," A bottle of finely aged Cabernet Sauvignon passes hands as Elincia gratefully accepts the velvet bag. She pulls the drawstring open slightly, taking in the deliciously sweet aroma. It's delightful and her eyes alight with joy just thinking about how they'll taste later. "I doubt I would need anything - you and Lady Ethlyn seem to have provided everything one could wish for. Though I'd happily enjoy your company, sir. Perhaps we should enjoy a toast, to each other's continued health and happiness."

[old-scalebag]

"Hello, my friend, and welcome! I don't believe we've met - " Sigurd extended his hand to shake, grinning up at the impressive figure cut before him. "My name is Sigurd, of Chalphy. Please, find yourself welcome, we've room to spare - sorry, sorry, a poor jest."

He laughed anyway, though the joke was scarce funny - how often a large man needed to be reminded that he was large.

"Anyway, I'm pleased you've come! The more the merrier - we've food aplenty, and drink, and company. It is sure to be a fine party. Oh! But, my manners. Here, this is for you - please, take it." Sigurd reached for the table nearby, which held the goodie bags, and presented one to the impressive man. The bag is of a plush sapphire velvet with braided gold drawstrings. If he were tempted to peek inside, he would find the festive goodies of the typical Chalphy holiday season: roasted nuts coated in a caramelized warming spice mixture, a hand-pulled twisted peppermint stick, decadent candied orange peel, and a holiday cracker to be pulled later with little knick-knacks within.

"I hope you find something you enjoy - please! You simply must let me know if I can be of assistance."

Dheginsea had received the invitation for this feast wedged into the door jamb of his office. The writing of which had humored him a little. It had been... quite sometime since he had been involved in beorc festivities, of any sort. If memory serves, he still had hair during that time...

Regardless, He planned to attend. For partly, it was expected of him. Thankfully, he had set aside some funds to request, and later receive, a garb more befitting of formal events. Prior to the invitation. Dheginsea just hoped that the dish he would bring would suffice...

-

"We have not. I am Dheginsea, of Goldoa." He replied. Taking the hand that was offered in greeting, giving it the appropriate and firm shake or two as the host introduced himself. Sigurd, was the beorc’s name. Who’s grin was an infectious one. And, combine with the light and joyous atmosphere that was put into the dinning hall, and its decorations for this feast. Dheginsea couldn't help but grin, every so faintly, at the man before him.

Though, that grin faded as he squinted down at Sigurd in confusion. For Dheginsea was unsure of what the joke was... for a moment. He wasn’t unused to comments regarding his size. However, It had been a very long time since he was a part of a joke of this nature. And, like in ages past, he did not find it funny, but didn't comment on it. To not bring down the mood, of course...

Presented with the bag. Dheginsea held his hand out to take the gift. He would open this later. As it would be in poor manners to open it directly in front of the host, and to do so this early into the event. It was wiser to wait until the tail end of this feast.

“I believe I will, worry not. Thank you, for the invitation.”

[anruraiocht]

He could not help but think that she entered the hall skittish as a deer, but he saw the blaze in her eyes, the stone set of her jaw, and Sigurd could not help but steer his attention to her.

"Welcome, child! Come, come – here, to break the ice, I've a gift for you. Some treats from my homeland – I enjoyed them quite a bit when I was a lad, and my sister as well, perhaps you'll find something you enjoy."

He grabbed a goodie bag from one of the nearby tables and presented it to her with a flourish and a smile. The bag is of a plush sapphire velvet with braided gold drawstrings. If she were tempted to peek inside, she would find the festive goodies of the typical Chalphy holiday season: roasted nuts coated in a caramelized warming spice mixture, a hand-pulled twisted peppermint stick, decadent candied orange peel, and a holiday cracker to be pulled later with little knick-knacks within.

"I don't believe we've met, have we, my lady? I am Sigurd, of Chalphy. The lady, just there, my cohost, that is my sister – Ethlyn Claus, of Leonster. Please, if you find yourself in need of anything, you must find one of us, we would be delighted." His eyes creased with his smile; "In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your time."

Miranda had considered ignoring the invitation. The letter could have crackled in the hearth with all of the other letters demanding her attention, crumbling into ashes. This all would have transpired had it not been for the final line of the invitation, crossed out though it was.

"Jugdral countrymen must attend!"

With one line, her decision goes from a personal choice to one she must make on behalf of her kingdom. Her presence is requested as Ulster's heir and she would hear no end to the nagging were she to skip out on such an event.

Imagine her surprise, however, when the late Duke of Chalphy himself hands her a goodie bag. Ignoring the absurdity of this situation entirely, a legend in the flesh greets her with all the warmth of the hearth she had almost burned the invitation in.

...Is this... not a political affair, then?

"A gift? You are quite the gracious host," she says, gingerly taking the bag by its gilded drawstrings.

It weighs quite heftily in her hand for such a small bag. A sweet scent wafts from the velvet, hinting at what lies within. She is not uncouth enough to open a gift in front of the host, so she will find out the specifics later in the comfort of her own room, away from the bright blue eyes watching her.

She curtsies, pulling at the edges of her dress, "It is an honor, Lord Sigurd. I am Miranda of Ulster. And I thank you for your introductions, but I am" – a grimace – "already acquainted with Lady Ethlyn."

Ulster's princess hesitates, considering whether or not she wants to divulge further information.

"...Lord Sigurd, I do not know if you are aware, but your son returned my kingdom to me and I am eternally grateful for that."

[lordleonster]

"Ah, my friend!" It was easy to feel like the sun had risen when the Leonsters had walked into the dining hall – close friends, of course, but more than that they were family sure enough, long before Quan had wed Ethlyn, Sigurd had considered him as a brother. And now, to see that he had his entire family at hand, it warmed Sigurd greater than any hearth.

He clapped his friend on the shoulders, roundly kissing both cheeks in welcome as he beamed. "It has been too long since we have come together like this – I cannot tell you how pleased I am that we have this opportunity. Here, come, I would like to show you everything that we have prepared – oh, but before I forget - "

As they walked past the table with goodie-bags, Sigurd snatched one and pressed it into Quan's hands. "Your wife and I have made these – a little taste of home, of welcome."

The bag is of a plush sapphire velvet with braided gold drawstrings. If he were tempted to peek inside, he would find the festive goodies of the typical Chalphy holiday season: roasted nuts coated in a caramelized warming spice mixture, a hand-pulled twisted peppermint stick, decadent candied orange peel, and a holiday cracker to be pulled later with little knick-knacks within.

"Now, come, I think you will be delighted to see the fruits of our hard work."

"Sigurd! What a sight this all is." He paces up to him quickly, arms wide to bring him in for a triumphant clap of shoulders. There's something of pride to be had at a banquet as grand as this, with the candle light bouncing off the tinsel and silverware, and the chatter spanning across the entire hall. "You must have had your hands tied for days..."

He clasps the drawstring bag carefully, laughter emerging as a a stern huff of his nose. "Hm. You should be careful." His dark eyes glowed, fondness meaning otherwise. "If you start perfecting baking on top of your form on the battlefield, you might be worshiped from the ground up."

Quan's sigh loosens up with the joke, shaking his head thoughtfully as he found himself locked into a good-natured smile. After all they had been through together, he felt that his dear friend would be the first to understand that the best jokes were made with irony.

"...You know, you make these things palpable. I'd much rather be out back sporting a training spear than spinning circles in tight formal wear, but a feast with friends is certainly favorable."

Just to make Sigurd laugh, he humors the man, shaking the little bag. "Now, what have you got for me? Hopefully not some chestnuts and trinkets." Which his wife had a hand in arranging. Quan smirks, dusting off one arm, then the next, somehow theatrical in his grandeur. Then with a delicate hand, he parted the bag, as though he were doing open-heart surgery to one of Altena's dolls.

"Oh, my. Chestnuts and trinkets." He says flatly, though the smirk grew ten sizes. He was endeared. No, more than endeared, he was genuinely pleased. As hardened as he was, Quan was utterly a slave to his sentimentality.

It was just like old times, back when they had these sorts of feasts at home. He should have prepared more chocolate liquor to wash down how pleased he was.

"...And for you." He says, sly as a fox. Quick to raise his own wrapped box, it was adorned with ribbons, pink and orange. Unbefitting of his closest friend, but worth it nonetheless.

"It's delicate, so handle it with care." With all the jokes, Quan hopes Sigurd would take that bit seriously. Inside was a commemorative bottle of wine, to replace the one that was buried in flames so long ago. "This one is for the years to come."

He would manifest that will and that way. It would be great. Especially if it was them.

"It's good to be back, isn't it, my friend?"