PSL; [WE MISSED EACH OTHER BY A MILE]

[royalboar]

[To the idealistic, peace came paired with the end of the years-long war; but to those more rationally-minded — the ones entrenched in the weblike mire of politics, a pile of treatises, the succession and exchange of power, the shuffling of influence — know that it is never so easy. The blood of the fallen may no longer soak the plains of Fódlan, but the bones of the land still ache with change.

Dimitri sees proof of it on his desk every day — the letters, the documents in need of signing, the requests to schedule meetings and to reschedule them, bids for his attention, pulled in five directions at once if the day is kind. He tends to it all tirelessly, like a man who does not believe he has earned the right to rest. He may be King of a newly united nation, but his authority is at the beck and call of his people, now expanded to an entire continent, and who all require different wants and place him high against different standards of expectation.

He had never been so tired in those first few months after the war’s end.

The months following are only marginally kinder. The more vocal decries of political dissent have been hushed, appeased with both time and the Kingdom and Church's staunchly cooperative efforts to keep the land unified. Slowly, the cracks that threaten to break apart begin to mend. Slowly, even Dimitri can allow his mind to wander for minutes at a time, wondering if true peace will soon begin to settle across the land. That, of course, was his first mistake. These are the thoughts that tempt fate, and one day, as he returns from a meeting of nobles in what was once House Aegir territory, a roar echoes across the horizon and his eye trails to distant movement.

He knows the silhouette. A few of the wayward creatures still roam the continent, somehow freed from their use in the Empire’s army, now laying waste to any and all in their way — a demonic beast, angry, thrashing, pursuing a figure that he cannot quite make out.

Dimitri nudges his mount with a heel, barking an order to the regiment of soldiers that accompany him. They ride at his flank, approaching fast, and the young king grips tightly at the haft of Areadbhar as they move to lend their aid.]

You there! Get behind us!

[-he calls out, demanding the man’s attention if the thundering hooves of their horses did not already do so.]

Comments

[inklongdry]

[ Fódlan feels like a lifetime ago.

It was a miracle Arthur's parents had managed to ship him off in the first place, the promise of a prodigious academy that might fit in with Arthur's newfound love of tactical magecraft enough to make him budge from his usual isolation in his father's libraries.

Arthur was a fair bit older than most of his fellow students, which saved him the pain of dealing with the schoolyard bullies that had plagued his youth. He still mostly kept to himself, a quiet and sharp student with a knack for healing and an Eorzean sort of twist to his magic, but he formed a few solid friendships with his classmates, a certain prince among them.

And then all hell broke loose, and Arthur was whisked away back to Eorzea as swiftly as his family could manage. The war that raged in Fódlan was a distant thing, with news barely reaching his homeland, but over those long, long years, he couldn't help but wonder what became of his former classmates. Life took Arthur on his own adventures in that time, changing him from a quiet recluse to a... marginally less quiet adventurer.

So when news of the war's end finally reached Eorzean shores, it took no time for Arthur to decide to revisit the land of his schooling. Things being what they were at home, he needed to get away for a while anyway.

And that would have been all well and good if not for the presence of a great bloody beast that wanted him for dinner. By now, he was used to the wilder parts of Eorzea and the dangers they could bring, but Arthur knew better than to take on anything of that size by himself. With no other recourse, he turned tail and ran. The thunder of approaching horses is the sweetest sound he's ever heard, surpassed only by the voice telling him to take cover.

Dutifully, he scrambles behind the mounted soldiers, lifting the spellbook from its place on his belt. He may not be fighting on the front lines in this battle, but he means to help if he can. ]

[royalboar]

[The man hears his call and, more importantly, follows his orders — Dimitri is soon upon him, moving ahead with the other falling into cover behind a cadre of armored knights on horseback. They should provide enough ample protection, if the beast itself does not tear through them all first. He pushes the thought aside, knowing through experience that doubt will only dull his reaction time, and instead charges straight towards the demonic creature to meet it head-on, like he had done so many times in the past with his comrades at his side.

(Now is not the time to think of how the man looked oddly familiar. He was struck by the feeling as he ran past, the lines of his face threatening to dig up old memory. Does he know him? He feels like he must, but he cannot exactly turn around and strike up a curious conversation in the moment.)

The beast lets out a roar, raising up a clawed foreleg to slam it down into the earth. No doubt the intent is to crush Dimitri and his horse beneath its weight, but he pulls hard on the reins and his steed — who has enough sense to move out of the way on its own — barely misses the attack. The ground shudders under the force, kicking up dirt and stone and flinging it in a wide radius.

Meanwhile, a few of the mounted archers who have taken their place next to Arthur begin to nock arrows into their bows.]

[inklongdry]

[ There isn't much time for Arthur to take a look at his savior, though something in that voice, the one that had called to him, struck a familiar chord. He'll have to address that later – for introductions to be made, they all must survive this encounter first.

Arthur takes note of the men nocking their arrows, and though he himself has never really been on a battlefield situation with real, trained soldiers, he knows well how he can be of help here. The scholar flips hurriedly through the pages of his tome, fingers ghosting over the correct page once he finds it. Magic leaps from the pages, spectral screens of blue-black energy and scrolling white text spring up around him as his spell analyzes the creature before them.

A mot of bright grey-blue light coalesces on the demonic beast's hide, a gap in the plating now made into a beacon. ]

Strike there if you can!

[ He shouts it, so the man with the spear can hear as well. ]

[royalboar]

[His men are already loosing their arrows as the magic begins to coalesce. Dimitri is too busy keeping his gaze fixed on the danger before him to notice just yet, pulling his horse back a few feet to make room for what he knows is to come. Though their regiment is small, they are all trained — none of these soldiers are greenhorn recruits, most of them having fought in some manner during the war — and they know what to do. Assault from a distance as quickly as possible, and fall back if met with resistance. The front lines (though it is only himself right now) hold their position for as long as they can, the cycle continues, and eventually these awful things will fall under the pressure of attrition.

The arrows arc and fall, a few of their heads sticking into the hide of the monster. Only then does strange magic illuminate a weak spot in its hide, and Dimitri cannot parse the sudden realization that he’s seen foreign magic like that before, five years ago—

Instead, he rushes forward, Areadbhar practically glowing as he aims for the weak point. As always, his aim is true, and as always, his strength is startling, and the monster rises up in pain with the spear’s tip embedded in its flesh.

Dimitri should let go, but he doesn’t. He can’t allow himself to be unarmed even if it means he’s twisting himself at an odd angle to wrench it free, upending his balance and sending him off his mount. Thankfully, he knows how to fall, and lands squarely on his knees with his lance gripped tightly in his hands, torn away from the creature. Blood coats the bone-like surface.

Eyes lift to see an exposed underbelly.]

Fire again!

[-he commands, digging his heels in to rush in after another long-range barrage follows through.]

[inklongdry]

[ Arthur's skill as a mage has come a long, long way in the five years since he last stepped foot in the academy, and so too have his instincts. His association with a certain miqo'te adventurer have taught him a lot about working with a partner who jumps right into the fray.

Arthur's beacon will last for a little while longer yet, so the instant the man with the spear and the strangely familiar tone falls from his mount, Arthur is already casting. Danging light and red-orange runes spill from the pages of his tome, and a translucent bubble flashes around the spearman before going invisible. A shield to ward off flailing claws, one stronger than Arthur would have ever been able to cast in years prior. ]

[royalboar]

[The knights follow orders with expected expediency, and soon another barrage of arrows rains down. Again, some plant themselves into the hide of the creature, but in the end, they are more distraction than the actual threat.

It buys him enough time for Dimitri to rise to his feet, and more so for Arthur's magic (yes, he has seen it before, or some form of it, he must have) to envelop him in a bubble-like shield. It's a blessing because in the next moment, the giant claws rake against the invisible protection in retaliation.

It isn't enough to jar him, though he will make a quiet note to offer his gratitude later. For now, dashing forward like a loaded spring, Dimitri rushes forward and spears that glowing weak point with Areadbhar, his Crest alighting above his head as if a punctuation mark to the attack.

It's a critical hit a fatal blow and the demonic monster, in its pain, stumbles and falls over on its side, the wound eking dark ichor and weeping coiled smoke. Dimitri works to free his Relic from its belly, and in a few moments more, it is gone.

He turns to look at his knights and the stranger as the body begins to dissolve behind him.]

Is everyone uninjured?

[inklongdry]

[ The scholar counts himself lucky to have been found by so competent a troupe of soldiers. This whole encounter could have turned out much, much worse, and put Arthur’s healing magic to the test. But it seems no such thing is needed. The shield Arthur had placed on the apparent leader of the group held fast through that one blow, and likely could have taken a few more, but the creature is handily defeated before that can come to pass.

Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief, snapping his tome shut with one hand. With the danger now gone, he works his way through the group of soldiers to the blonde fellow. ]

Thanks in no small part to you. I am in your debt.

[ Now that he has a moment, Arthur takes it to look over his savior. He certainly looks like he’s had a rough go of it, but there is something terribly familiar about him that Arthur cannot seem to shake. ]

[royalboar]

[One of the knights speaks their affirmative, noting that they, too, are unscathed. Dimitri is glad for it, nodding, but his attention remains pulled to the man who had sought refuge behind their armor and weaponry.

By the time he nears, now leading his war horse by the reins, his scrutiny is clear. That sense of familiarity is definitely not misplaced, and since it was confirmed by a magic he had seen only in one stretch of his life, it is easier now to pin it down.]

There is no need for thanks. If you are well, then that is all that matters.

[His steed paws at the dirt with a hoof. Dimitri pauses, considering his words, but ends up blurting them out regardless.]

Actually, I might have you answer a question of mine in return. You were… a student at the Officers Academy years ago, were you not?

[inklongdry]

[ It's good that injury was avoided all around. Happy is the healer whose skills are not needed, after all.

Before Arthur can bring up the nagging sense of familiarity that keeps tugging at the corners of his mind, the other man does it for him. The question all but confirms Arthur's suspicions, that they were classmates once. That just leaves the matter of who, exactly, he's speaking to. ]

I was, yes. As were you, I assume.

[ He gives the man before him a once-over, pieces slowly falling into place as he marks the color of his hair, the shade of his lone eye, the tone of his voice. There is only one logical conclusion, but... if he's right, then the years have been especially unkind. ]

Prince Dimitri?

[ Or is it king now? He'd tried to brush up on the politics of Fódlan before he left home, but news was so sparse, he didn't have much to put together. ]