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caraidean · 5 years

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Arranged Marriage AU Starter for @sireneia

I don't want to do this.

Every bone in Ishtar's body was screaming out as she watched the ship steadily grow closer, her limbs stiff and eyes narrowed. For a moment she considered if it would be worth breaking her vow, striking out at the approaching vessel with every ounce of hate and anger and fear she could muster, shattering it into a thousand burning pieces with a bolt of lightning from the skies as a harsh reminder of who she was, who they were dealing with. But she couldn't do that. Thunder and lightning could keep enemies in line and her family safe, but it couldn't put food in people's mouths.

Of all the things to threaten to bring down the reformed empire after almost twenty years...a famine. A damned famine. One that had already lasted almost a year, and now its effects were truly starting to be felt - no crops growing in all but the most fertile fields, animals dying off with their meat corrupted and beyond salvaging. Those regions that were still self-sufficient were now complaining more and more of neighbors lashing out at them, a frightening similarity to the Thracian Peninsula's old problems starting to become clear on a far larger scale.

Then a miracle happened, and Ishtar wished that it hadn't.

Gates...of all damned things. Some magical mishap that tore open a pathway to another world, one that was still intact - or mostly, compared to the current state of Jugdral. One that didn't just have food, but plentiful amounts of it, and ways of growing it and new strains of seeds that could resist whatever had gotten into their continent's water...it was a miracle. Aytolis was a miracle.

Aytolis was stealing her daughter and she hated all of them.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had such an intense argument with Seliph - gods, had she ever? He had very clearly not been happy with it either, but eventually it had become clear how few ways there were to make an alliance like this and actually keep it. She had to hand over her daughter. She had to hand over her daughter to some spoiled prince, some debauchery obsessed noble-born, who would possess her and break her and force her to match his twisted desires and treat her like-

"I promise you, if we hear that he is even CLOSE to being like Julius, we will march over there and bring our daughter back by force. We won't let him hurt her. But we truly don't have any other choices..."

Unable to restrain herself Ishtar let out a sharp shout, turning away from the cliffs as a gigantic bolt of lightning struck the surf behind her - far away from the ships. At least she could put the fear of the Gods into these people, she supposed, a frown on her face as she went down to the beaches.

"Mother, please." Swanhild grumbled as she stepped out of the shade, standing at her mother's side and craning her neck to get a better look at her betrothed. Blue hair stuck against her forehead, the effect of her military dress uniform somewhat ruined by the sweat and seawater spray matting her hair and skin. "I'm sure they're already very scared of you."

"Not scared enough." She said curtly, eyes glancing over. It was good to see that Swanhild at least took her own warnings seriously, the girl's hand resting on her sword with knuckles clearly going white from the grip underneath her gloves. "You might be able to take care of yourself, but--"

"I know, I know. People find giant storms way scarier than a glowing sword." Swanhild's voice was thick with sarcasm, her nerves hiding behind amusement and familiarity. Ishtar nodded with a slight smile before looking at the approaching delegation and scowling slightly. That prince didn't look scared. He looked almost...excited. Or impressed, if she felt like being generous and giving him that kind of doubt.

Ishtar didn't like to stand by titles and decorum these days. But as the Aytolis delegation disembarked from their dinghy and straddled up the beach, men surrounding the spoiled shit that was taking her daughter away from her, she'd decided that a little pomp and circumstance might help her point.

"Her Highness Ishtar Friege-Chalphy, Empress-Consort, Commander of the Gelben Ritter, Goddess of Lightning and the weilder of Mjolnir." Her escort trumpeted, chest puffed out with self-importance. She nodded slightly as Swanhild sighed and rolled her eyes, loosening her shoulders. "...and her daughter, ah, Princess Swanhild Chalphy, Captain of the Royal Guard, Heir to Jugdral and the Tyrfing-"

"Not that I'll get to use it if I move over there." Swanhild grumbled under her breath, letting out a yelp as her mother's heel stomped into the ground an inch from her foot. While she might want to turn the men in front of them into so many cinders and ashes she wouldn't want to tell her citizens that they'd be starving to death thanks to her daughter's errant mouth, either.

"Behave." She hissed, and Swanhild reluctantly nodded. The page finished his announcements of the rest of the party as if nothing had happened before turning a disdainful eye towards the Aytolian party.

"...Prince Rowan of Aytolis." He said, shortly. Ishtar kept a stern gaze, while Swanhild eventually sighed and stepped forward. She supposed she would have to be the mature one here.

"Hey." She said, flatly.

Well, it was for a certain measure of mature.

#Goddess of Lightning;Ishtar #Light of Thunder;Swanhild #Forwards!;In Character #sireneia

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alexmorrall · 3 years

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Charles the Hammer

724

When dinnertime came, Duke Grimwald sat waiting for his niece. Swanhild arrived fresh from the garden, knees and forearms besmirched with soil. Wiping her hands on the tablecloth, she left it smeared with grime. Grimwald’s thick brows furrowed as he muttered into his plate.

“You’re nothing like a lady… How will I find you a husband? I’ve half a mind to send you to a convent. But you are sixteen this year and we require an alliance with Alemannia. I’ll arrange a meeting with the earl.”

“God-father,” Swanhild spat the word, “I don’t suppose I have any say?”

“I don’t suppose you do,” he sipped ale.

“I’ve not much of an appetite. May I be excused?”

“You’ve barely touched your sausage.”

“I see only the men you killed in the square today.”

“Leave me then. You’re not the best dinner companion. Rolf, bring in the dancers.”

He kept one bushy brow raised as Swanhild carried the tray away, before remembering their serving staff was executed that day. She had been close with some of them, and that is why they died. Now that she was sixteen he kept her locked up like a prized jewel. Once she was through the kitchen doors, she shushed the remaining cooks, and left out the back. Making her way down the servants’ hall, she took turned down a dank corridor that led to the dungeons.

Two guardsmen stood before an iron door. They allowed Swanhild to pass, after a round of questions, and tousling her golden curls. Growling, she pushed past, marching down the stairs. Moving to a dark cell, farthest from any window, she found the man she sought. He tumbled forward, newly alert eyes glinting in firelight. Scarred hands gripped the bars, pulling his red-bearded face closer. Setting down her tray of sausage, bread and beer, he dove forward. A moment later it was gone, as he gasped for breath.

“Swanhild…” he belched. “Yer blessed by the gods, milady.”

“God,” she corrected. “There is only one, Jorg. I’ll make you a Christian yet.”

“Perhaps yer father had a chance,” Jorg grumbled. “Ye’ve got none, milady.” She smiled, smoothing embroidered skirts before sitting on the grimy stone floor. “Have ye come with news, or just me dinner?”

“Much news, godfather Jorg.”

“That title’s not for me. Not since yer father fell... A caged man does ye no use.”

“Both wrongs will be righted. And now I know how. Charles Martel has risen to unify the Franks and defeat the Saxons to our north.”

“Ah, I know the man… Charles, the Hammer, that’s what they call him. A good man, bastard born, but so am I. Fights like a demon. I served him once, six years ago.”

“You served the Franks?”

“Briefly, we fought Saxons then too. Pushed them back to the Weser, Lippe, and Ruhr. Then they caught us marching back in Teutoberg Forest. Fearing no man, Charles took the vanguard with me in it. I hurling my Francesca into a Saxon bigger than a tree. They came on, raging… Again and again they broke on our shield wall. Seeing them bloodied, we followed Charles in his charge, and chased them to their holes… Good days under a strong leader. If Bavaria’s dukes were half as brave, they’d keep their heads for more than a fortnight.”

Swanhild’s face shriveled up, eyes watering.

“I do not mean yer father... He was a stout warrior. His death was my failing. Once I’m freed, yer uncle will pay fer what he’s done. You’ll be the duchess, milady, I swear it. Forgive me, an old brute loves to reminisce… Why do ye tell me of Charles now?”

“His wife has just died. Tell me, is he kind?”

“I saw little of him in Paris, great man that he was even then. Never saw behind closed doors, or in private with his wife. On the battlefield, he was honorable. Those who surrendered were given food and quarter. Chiefs who bowed to him kept their heads. I may not have been so merciful as Charles, but I know yer father would have. In that way they were alike.”

“That is good to hear… I thank you, Jorg, for years of service and your remembrance of my father. Now to right these wrongs, I wish to make Charles a proposition.”

“Ye’d be so bold? I feel I know what ye plan. Perhaps yer the brave man Bavaria needs.” Swanhild smiled back, bright as a summer day. “Well, if yer made up... Its in Charles we trust.”

Swanhild returned to her chambers that night, taking to quill and parchment. She wrote to Charles Martel, giving condolences to his late wife. In the same letter she offered her hand in marriage, if one day he would give Bavaria freedom from Frankish rule. She knew it was only a matter of time before the Franks conquered all Germania, and this may save her people suffering.

Six months later, a letter came back.

Several letters followed between Swanhild and Charles Martel, ruler of the Franks. At first, he asked much of her and her claim to the dukedom of Bavaria, wondering if it was legitimate. She professed that her father was the late Duke Theodo, deposed by his brother Grimwald. Now she and her father’s greatest warrior Jorg lived in shame. She asked that Charles march east to set those wrongs right. Seemingly satisfied, Charles asked much of Bavaria, the number of troops they could raise, the size of Salzburg’s army, and the castle’s layout. Knowing the danger if she was deceived, Swanhild told him everything. In return he told her his day of arrival.

Rousing early, she waited in the early morning light. From her window, salt barges sailed the river below.

Warhorns broke the quiet still.

Men shouted in the castle, and soon a thousand torches appeared in the valley. Moving into the village, hoofbeats thundered like a wave over Salzburg castle’s bridge. Finally, they swarmed the keep, arriving in silver mail, crested helmets and gold arm rings. German guardsmen cried as arrows lanced down at the Franks. It was not long before a battering ram smashed against Salzburg’s gates. Again and again it crashed on oak, men screaming on both sides. Swanhild covered her ears, sliding to the floor. Instantly, she regretted bringing such wrath on her people. How many would die for her foolish pride?

Then she recalled Jorg’s words. Charles was kind and just, sparing the defeated and standing with his men in the shield wall. Swanhild donned a green dress that would still allow her to run if need be. Passing out into the hallway, she determined to face her suitor. Nobles filled the halls, chattering like chickens before the slaughter. Charles promised Swanhild there would be no undo bloodshed, but some of these men deserved it for they had betrayed her father. Descending the main stairway, she reached the entrance hall where men gathered before the keep’s doors.

“Milady, return to your chambers!” they pleaded, but she stood her ground.

When the doors slipped open and Germans rushed out to defend Salzburg, Swanhild swan the outer wall. Its oaken doors were shattered by the Frankish ram. Horses trotted, blades flashed in dawn’s light and men died in the streets. Dread welled up inside once more, as cabbage and cheese rose from her stomach, onto the floor.

Grimwald and his men burst through the door as they shut behind. “Cowards! Retreating from one Frankish charge… You’re not men, you’re sheep!”

Grimwald wore the battle-glory of Bavaria, a winged helmet and mail with a bastard sword at his hip. A pine shield painted with the black bear of Freising was strapped to his arm. In his haste to join battle, a silver circlet that offered no protection made its way onto his bald, sweaty head. Swanhild pitied her uncle, beaten already by a foreign invader and soon to be at his mercy, all for her doing.

“My Duke!” cried a soldier. “Charles Martel demands we free the traitors loyal to Theodo. He wants to speak with one prisoner, Jorg of the Baia. Will you have us free them?”

“Jorg?” Grimwald roared. “I thought he died years ago. Bring up what’s left of him... How a man can live in darkness fed on gruel I’ll never know.”

“Soon you will,” Swanhild whispered to herself.

With a violent crash, an axeblade appeared in the door by Grimwald’s head. He jumped three feet, nearly losing his circlet. Wild eyes turned as more brutal blows tore the door to pieces. An invader peered through, gnashing teeth. “Surrender, Grimwald, and you may yet live,” boomed an imperious command from beyond.

Grimwald drew his sword, crouching low. Dark eyes flew to his men who slowly drew their steel. A thousand men beat their shields and cried, “Martel!” from the streets beyond. As soon as the spark lit in Grimwald’s eyes, it was snuffed out. The tip of his sword wilted to the ground and was sheathed. He signaled to his guards.

Oaken doors burst wide as Frankia’s ruler stepped forward. Charles stood between six and seven feet, a gilded axe in hand, the same that rent the door. He wore a neat beard, brown locks fell to his shoulders, and his crown was adorned with the Fleur de Lys. Mailed arms and chest rippled as he strode forward. Blue eyes bore into Grimwald, giving an unspoken order. The duke growled, falling to his knees and tearing off his circlet.

Shouts sounded down the hall as bootsteps rang in their ears. Swanhild gasped as Jorg ran ahead of guardsmen, a battleaxe in his hand.

“Draw yer blade,” Jorg spat, approaching Grimwald. The duke’s eyes went to Charles who nodded, backing away.

Grimwald leapt to his feet, drawing his sword in a flash. Jorg’s axe struck his sword like an anvil. The red-bearded warrior howled, hacking at Grimwald’s defenses. Shocked at the man’s strength after five years of darkness and gruel, Grimwald lost ground. He could barely block his foe’s vicious axe before one cut made it past. Jorg’s blade sank into Grimwald’s shoulder, crippling the Duke’s sword arm. He fell to his knees once more.

“Finish it,” Grimwald snarled, clutching the arm.

“Jorg, please!” Swanhild called from the stairs. “If you have any love for me, spare my uncle. He is selfish but deep down there is good.”

Jorg’s axe lowered to his side as rage subsided. “Death is too kind fer ye, traitor.”

“Jorg,” said Charles Martel. “Though I’ve come for Swanhild’s hand and the loyalty of her people, I see your mettle has not dulled.”

“Ye remember me, king?” Jorg asked, eyes gaining light.

“I’m no king… But serve me once more and I vow that before my death Bavaria will be free.”

Jorg knelt, bowing his head.

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caraidean · 5 years

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Plots Call - February

It’s time for the obligatory monthly “these are thread ideas I have for these characters, who’s interested” post

Cynthia

During FE13 / Platonic / Humor

Shortly after recruitment, Cynthia grows fed up with being teased over the Ruger incident, despite the man’s actual talent with disguises. She drags her comrades shopping, determined to prove that even she could pass for her father with a thorough enough costume.

Mia

Between FE9 and FE10 / Platonic / Misc.

Mia adjusts to life with the Greil Mercenaries, reflecting on how strange it is to finally be settling down with a group.

Early FE9 / Platonic / Serious Convos

Shortly after arriving in Begnion, Mia slips away to visit her parents for a few days. On returning she ends up being questioned about her disappearance, and eventually relents before opening up about her childhood.

Tanith

Immortal AU / Platonic / Angst

Shortly after the truth of what Sephiran did to her becomes clear, Tanith leaves Begnion for a short while - seeking refuge in another nation, refusing to speak to her ‘former’ husband over her anger at her transformation. Whoever granted her asylum tries to talk her around to being less actively angry at him over it.

Modern / Platonic / Angst

Forced to retire from the special forces following a horrific helicopter crash, Tanith tries to adjust to her new life - teaching gym at a prestigious boarding school, currently attended by the two underage heirs to the country in Micaiah and Sanaki. Frustrated with her turn in life and starting to deal with a painkiller dependency, she turns to a local community group in an attempt to start socializing again and find something else to do with her life.

Tana

Post FE8 [Ephraim Route] / Platonic (Tana/Eph Mention) / Angst

With her due to be wed to Ephraim in a few weeks, Tana takes to the streets of Renais to attempt to get to know her future citizens better. She returns to the castle slightly haunted by the suffering she saw, throwing herself into plans for charity work at the expense of sleep.

Igrene

Heroes / Family / Angst

Igrene, having seen many families that were once broken by violence reunite but with no sign of her own child or Gorlois, retires to the keep’s bar and bitterly vents with whoever proves sympathetic enough to listen.

Ced

Late FE4 / Platonic / Serious Convos - Taken by @irewindrising

Recuperating from his fight with Ishtar, Ced tries to leave the medical tent before fully healed. Whoever confronts him goes out of their way to make sure he stays, even as he tries to convince them to let him fight.

Ishtar

Near-End of FE4 / Platonic / Angst - Taken by @irewindrising

Ishtar’s attempt at a peaceful surrender goes south following her attempts to strike out at Shannan for Ishtore’s death, resulting in her imprisonment. One of the soldiers is taking her food, and discovers how broken she is at the time.

Swanhild

Heroes / ??? / Humor - Taken by @gaileon

Unused to being in the shadows of people who aren’t her parents or their friends, Swanhild feels the pressure of her much less significant contributions to history compared to the other Heroes present. She decides to challenge herself to a gauntlet, setting out to defeat the heroes in whatever their main talent is - tactics, swordsmanship, even magic if it comes to it.

She’s in over her head.

#Caraidean a Ràdh;Starter Call #Light of Thunder;Swanhild #Goddess of Lightning;Ishtar #Heroic Rider;Cynthia #Desert Guardian;Igrene #Inheritor of Wind;Ced #Spirited Swordswoman;Mia #Wings of Love and Friendship;Tana #Stern Commander;Tanith

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caraidean · 5 years

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@f-ortuity spreads the fankid blessings

“Eydis?”

Well, there was a familiar face, and one that wasn’t over a decade younger than it should have been at that. Swanhild’s entire demeanor brightened and she found her pace growing faster, practically skipping towards the younger girl with a wide grin on her face.

She couldn’t imagine why the girl would be here, surely she hadn’t been forced into some great conflict either - or maybe the Summoner’s tool had plucked her out from earlier in time than anticipated, like her parents.

“Finally! I’ve been hoping to see someone I could recognize without it getting weird.” She said happily, a hand suddenly wrapping around the Velthomer girl’s shoulders and lifting her up in a one-armed hug as she gestured out to the courtyards. “I mean, c’mon, my brothers aren’t here yet, Huedhaut isn’t here yet, heck not even Ciara is here yet - but at least you showed up! You met your dad yet? He’s gonna be way younger, it’s super weird.”

#Light of Thunder;Swanhild #Forwards!;In Character #f-ortuity #And So We Gather;Heroes

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caraidean · 5 years

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Hair Headcanons

I missed assorted talk about hair this morning, so have this last-minute thing far too late.

For the currently active roster.

Tanith’s hair is actually incredibly smooth, kept well-maintained out of a strict sense of duty and somehow unharmed by the constant exposure to wind and sun that being a pegasus knight brings. It is, however, slightly dull instead of shining.

Mia’s hair is incredibly straight as it gets long, but becomes unruly when short - resulting in her needing a headband to keep her bangs under control, but not so much for the rest of it. It’s also surprisingly resistant to split ends and the like.

Ishtar’s hair is almost perfect, being easy to style and always looking healthy. There’s a surprising amount of volume to it, resulting in caring for it or styling it taking an impressive amount of time.

Ced’s hair is more like his mothers than his fathers’, being far easier to control and much straighter. However, the actual shade of it is closer to Lewyn’s, and it has the same dull appearance as well.

Nanna’s hair is bright and almost silky, and would be incredibly beautiful if she ever grew it out. However, she finds it gets in the way too much, keeping it in a range from her chin to her shoulders instead.

Swanhild inherited her father’s hair color but her mother’s traits, resulting in silky and voluminous hair that she keeps deliberately thinned down and cut relatively short to avoid issues in combat or training - as well as to keep her visual similarity to her father first and foremost.

Igrene’s hair is coarse and dull, damaged from a lifetime outside in the desert with a hair colour that isn’t necessarily conducive to such an area. As a result it becomes dry and brittle, with many split ends - and she’s long given up taking care of it beyond combing each morning and night, mostly out of habit to remove sand that may have gotten caught during her travels.

Cynthia’s hair is naturally curly and unruly - resulting in her needing either pigtails or a short haircut to keep it under control without a massive amount of work each morning. It seems to keep a healthy shine no matter the rest of her physical state.

#Battle Log;Headcanons #Stern Commander;Tanith #Spirited Swordswoman;Mia #Goddess of Lightning;Ishtar #Inheritor of Wind;Ced #Princess of Nordion;Nanna #Light of Thunder;Swanhild #Desert Guardian;Igrene #Wings of Love and Friendship;Tana

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caraidean · 5 years

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me: i should get some work done

instead: *promotes a guest muse to a full muse*

i love this ship and her okay

#Home Base;Out of Character #Light of Thunder;Swanhild #Broken Away From The Shadow;Swanhild & Julius #Eternal Inspiration;Swanhild & Sigurd #Spoiling Me Rotten;Swanhild & Tine

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caraidean · 5 years

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@of-invisible-ties‘ sigurd wants his grandooter

“...oh my gods.”

Swanhild genuinely didn’t know how to act in this scenario - meeting the younger versions of her parents had been confusing enough, this was...impossible to believe. She wasn’t sure if she should be excited or afraid, wondering if there was a chance she could even begin to live up to any expectations he must have for her.

“Ah, excuse me? Sir?” Swanhild said feebly, a drawn Tyrfing dangling loosely from one hand as she tried to get his attention. “You don’t...know who I am, but. My mother said you’ve been told about me?”

Excellent. The one person she couldn’t summon up her normal sense of confidence or even arrogance up around, and she was left stumbling through her words like a child.

#Forwards!;In Character #of-invisible-ties:sigurd #Light of Thunder;Swanhild

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caraidean · 5 years

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S W A N H I L D, I S H T A R, S A N A K I

Name Headcanons || Open

These are going under a cut bc this post gets long just from how it’s formatted.

SWANHILD

S: How stealthy are they?

Swanhild isn’t known for being subtle - although she can tone it down when called upon. In person she’s too brash and arrogant to keep herself under control in such a way, and tends to stomp as she walks until reminded otherwise.

W: Can they dance?

Absolutely not, under any circumstances. While her footwork is actually quite admirable due to her focus on swordsmanship, she’s almost completely without rythym.

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

Swanhild’s main academic focuses were military history & tactics, although as a younger child she showed a decent head for mathematics - which mostly transitioned into her having a strong grasp of logistics.

N: What do they usually eat for breakfast?

She normally settles for a mix of oatmeal and fruits, packing light on campaign.

H: What is their deadly sin?

Pride, pride, PRIDE. She’s incredibly arrogant at times.

I: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do they love themselves?

A good 9.

L: What is their favourite board game?

Swanhild is that person who agrees to play Pandemic with you, and then forces you all to do exactly what she says on their turns instead of actually cooperating.

ISHTAR

I: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do they love themselves?

This is like a three on a good day - by the end of FE4, Ishtar’s pretty disillusioned with herself.

S: How stealthy are they?

She’s quite good at this, having learned how to move quietly and slink out of people’s vision at a young age.

H: What is their deadly sin?

The closest to the traditional seven she gets is most likely Wrath, although it’s much more subdued and complicated for her.

T: Where are they ticklish?

Along the underside of her ribcage, and behind her ears.

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

It would have been art, but she was shifted away from that interest by her parents. While less happy with it, she proved to have a good head for magical theory.

R: What are their hands like?

Soft, with long fingers and sharp, well-maintained nails. Partially her own vanity, but mostly her mother’s strict instruction to keep them in good condition.

SANAKI

S: How stealthy are they?

Sanaki is surprisingly good at this, having gotten a lot of experience by sneaking out under Tanith and the rest of the holy guard’s noses at inopportune times.

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

History

N: What do they usually eat for breakfast?

Whatever she damn well pleases, normally — the breakfast spread in the capital is extensive. If it wasn’t for her parents making sure she ate ‘properly’, though, it’d mostly just be sweetened cereals and nothing else

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

…also Ethics, and she was surprisingly good at literature as well. She was miserable at physical conditioning.

K: How do you know when you’ve upset them?

Normally, because she’s threatening to have you jailed for impotence. Just ask Ike.

I: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do they love themselves?

About a 7 or 8 — if it wasn’t for the pressures of her position, she’d be at 10.

#Anonymous #Battle Log;Headcanons #Divine Empress;Sanaki #Light of Thunder;Swanhild #Goddess of Lightning;Ishtar

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