( [Tibarn] )

( [Lenalee] )

Naesala of Kilvas. I don't know most of you, do I? If it weren't a lie, I would tell you I was pleased to meet you. Besides, you'll forget me soon enough.

--

He was a silhouette crouched on the rooftop, black wings against the orange sunset. The skies of Kilvas had never been this beautiful, but they had been the skies of home. If this is the last time I'll see this damned view, I won't be sad.

He was going home soon, he knew. The ravens of Kilvas had intuition, and he, as their king, had the best of it. Perhaps theirs had never been as sharp as the herons', but he knew enough. If anyone had asked him, he wouldn't have been able to put words to the feeling, but with everything in him, he knew he would be home. If he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the salty sea in the wind of his island nation.

This island had never truly been his home. Though the gods here had stolen his memories and toyed with him, they would never be able to change him. "Leanne," he whispered. Wonder what she'd think of me now. For a brief moment, he thought of the black-haired girl who reminded him so much of her. He didn't know if she would understand, but he knew she would forgive him for it.

Then he stood up straight and spread his wings and felt the wind grow stronger. He watched the sun dip lower and the sky darken, and he smiled.

"I've been gone long enough, haven't I?" he asked the wind, knowing that his nation would hear. "It's time for me to be your king again."

[He's crouched on the small railing that surrounds the roof of the building, facing out. Even if his wings aren't moving, he's still keeping balance. He's rested his forearms against his knees -- the position he's keeping certainly isn't dignified, but it works. For a long moment, he says nothing.]

... Heh.

Tibarn.

You failed.

[[No journal with him, as he's currently in the middle of the forest somewhere. In response to this. Let's pretend this happened about a month ago? Though, Naesala's been in the forest anyway and hasn't returned to town.]]

He didn't know what day it was.

He didn't particularly care. The last few days had passed in a haze of pain and light and dark, and he hadn't even had the energy to change back. When he opened his eyes this day, he realized he didn't really know where he was either, and that was somewhat troubling.

Oh. Tibarn.

Hah.

Well, now, Tibarn had had his chance, hadn’t he? And Naesala was still alive. He’d let Tibarn have his one shot – he couldn’t restore the lives of the hawks, but he could let justice happen. Justice had decided to let him live. All the better for him. He tentatively stretched his wings, keeping himself from wincing at the pain.

He caught his reflection in a pool of water nearby and would have made a sound of distaste, if birds could do that. He looked worse than a fledgling just hatched. The bird in the water stared back at him, and he wondered whether looks really could kill. Ah, if all of life were like this – here and now, there was no Tibarn, no Kilvas, and no kingship. He could imagine worse lives than this.

A life of ease and comfort wasn’t for him, it seemed. Bracing himself for the pain, he transformed back into his human state, where he could actually tend to his wounds. Nothing broken, at least. Justice seemed to be liking him more and more these days, didn’t she? Perhaps he owed Lady Luck a favor there. The sharp pain coming from everywhere in his body stopped his musings short, though, and he steeled himself to take a deep breath. Ugh. Damn hawks. He deserved it, but did Tibarn really have to attack so hard? He liked his life, thank you very much.

He’d managed to bandage the last of his cuts with pieces from his clothing before his world started spinning again. This will just be an endless cycle, won’t it, he thought, gripping the trunk of the tree beside him hard enough to make marks on his hands. The wave soon passed, and he was left trying to recover.

Damn hawks.

... Kilvas is safe.

Ha, I'll go meet death with -- can I really say it? What a world we live in -- a clear conscience now.

[[Context being this.]]

( [private and FE10 spoilers] )

[filter: private]

I would burn this, too, but belatedly, I realize that perhaps I may want to reread these at a later time. I suppose I run a risk with privacy, but what can these people do with this knowledge? They spend their days either concerned with romance and events or isolated amongst themselves, and they have nothing to offer me.

A king, a pauper -- what difference does it make on this island? How weak I must be, to be so resigned to my fate here. Perhaps I live for my country, but I do them no good here, sequestered in this godforsaken town. Were I a nobler man, on the morrow I would take wing to find Kilvas or die trying. That sounds a statement worthy of a hero, does it not? Add a few more histrionics, and there'll be a speech fit for the theatre.

Fortunately for mine own well-being, I am no hero. I rather like my life, after all, be it a cursed half-life as this. What a shame, This passive role that I now take -- a fledgling preparing for his first fall has more daring than I do now. Yet, this fledgling has the opportunity that I lack. Oh, he thinks not of the thousand terrible things that could happen on the way down but of flight.

Though, I must admit, I do bore rather easily. Perhaps, it is time for a game.

...Or a chat to our dearest King Phoenicis.

[/filter]

Tibarn.

[private]

Begnion.

That's our little empress's country, isn't it? Killing herons, forcing contracts, and generally being a nuisance -- a rather major one.

Seems like I'm not the worst of them, after all.

( Written on a piece of paper, and then burned. )

[half-heartedly locked, not really]

Ha... what the hell am I doing here?

[on a scrap of paper stuck to the door]

Damian, don't touch anything of mine.

[[And he's gone for a week. To put it simply, he's exploring the island, but it's not quite so much "exploration" as it is finding out where people can live, and a bit of thinking on the side. Mods, deduct seven days of pay.]]