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. ]