Loosely inspired by "Tales of Zestiria: The X" S02, EP04. (Thank goodness I wrote that down when I started writing this years ago, because I haven't touched the anime since.) I hate that terrible excuse for an adaptation, but Rose in a wedding dress is still the actual love of my life [and Dezel's], so I couldn't resist writing a little something about it. Also because, repeat after me: Lafarga is an important character.
"It's not right," slurs Dezel, again, and downs the last of the cider he was supposed to split with me.
Normally, we don't take the Windriders' supplies for ourselves, but a single bottle won't be missed on a night like this. Not when everyone's already drinking so much that they're losing track of their stock. Rose's engagement has only just been announced, and the date of the big day has yet to be arranged, but since those mercenaries live a life as changeable as the winds they ride… well, they've made a habit of looking for excuses to celebrate.
The breeze is restless tonight, and I know its source all too well. "You keep that air still," I say sternly, and pry the empty bottle from Dezel's hands. He's in one of his moods, and he'll probably end up taking it out on some unlucky bastard if they so much as look at his vessel the wrong way. Which is almost guaranteed, since Rose is trying on her wedding dress. She's always been just as rash and impulsive as Dezel, or maybe even more so, and I can't help but wonder whether that's his doing.
To my surprise, Dezel knows better than to put up a fight for once, and stands down. I care deeply for that boy, and I've done my best to raise him right, but sometimes he just doesn't listen to anything except a beating. He must've inherited that from Zaveid, even if he can't remember much of him. Ever since the time we met, Dezel has grown so fast he outpaced his memories.
"I don't… I don't like him," says Dezel, glaring at nothing in particular. "That blue-blooded son of a bitch who's gonna take my Rose… my vessel… away from me."
"I know, Dezel," I say, clapping him on the shoulder to gauge his strength. Sure enough, he practically buckles. He's had more than enough if he couldn't see that coming, but at least he's still aware enough of his limitations to stumble over to the nearest log and sit down all at once.
"She's barely sixteen," laments Dezel, running a hand through his messy bangs. They always seem to get in his face, but he never got out of the habit of brushing them aside. Says he can read the wind anyway, so what's the point. "She can't get married! Her life hasn't even started yet." I debate reminding him that sixteen for a human girl is much older than sixteen for a seraph, but he already knows. That's exactly why he's drinking.
For seraphim, the lines between different kinds of affection have always faded and blurred together. Our lives may be much longer than those of humans, but feelings are universally transient. They become brittle and break if you try to sustain them in the same way for much more than a human lifetime, so in order for any kind of emotion to endure, it must change. Friends may become lovers, or lovers friends, and even the families we make for ourselves may alter beyond what humans recognize in their own kind. For that reason, most of us prefer not to give our love, or even our preferences, a title. It's enough that it exists.
But when a human is involved… things change.
There's no law against a seraph falling in love with a human, but I've never met a seraph who doesn't think it's a bad idea. Avoiding malevolence is just part of why we usually keep our distance. The other part is that most of us are scared of our own longevity. We're wary of growing too attached to a world that shifts so quickly for us, or to the people within it, destined to die thousands of years before we do.
But Dezel hasn't learned to fear the world yet. From what I can tell, he hasn't lived more than one human lifetime, or at least, he hasn't spent enough time around humans to measure the change. Not like me, following in the wake of the Windriders ever since Brad founded them however many years ago. As humans go, he's among the best, and mark my words, his daughter's going to be just like him someday.
"Hey, there she is!" calls Talfryn's gleeful voice, and I glance over toward the campfire again to find that Rose has finally emerged from her tent. "Her Future Highness herself!"
"There's my little girl," says Brad, raising a tankard. "Let's have a look at you!"
At Talfryn's teasing tone and her father's encouragement, Rose grins and paces forward into the firelight, keeping her chin up in exaggerated haughtiness. Even without any accessories yet, no one can deny that she is a special kind of beautiful. The pure white of her dress is a striking contrast to her brightly colored hair and eyes, and the elegance of her gown belies her hard-earned musculature.
"Oh, Rose," groans Dezel, getting back to his feet unsteadily, and the hunger in his expression is so strong that I almost feel like grabbing his wrist and yanking him back before he hurts his eyes staring. But instead, I keep my mouth shut and follow him closer, even though he has a habit of drifting too close to humanity for my tastes.
After all, Rose's resonance has always been sharp. Too sharp. She's sensed our presence ever since Brad took her in, even if she couldn't see us outright, and that frightened her enough that she had nightmares until Dezel said no more. Better to cut off that part of her entirely than to let it make her miserable, in his eyes. But the downside is that if Dezel's concentration falters, so does the barrier between our worlds, and he's more than a little compromised at the moment.
"Rose," breathes Dezel again, this time soft in longing. She hesitates almost like she hears him, but then turns away again, the better to be admired by her visible comrades. She is certainly lovely enough to warrant their attention.
Still, I can't help but think she looks like a racehorse held to a walk. Even if I know better than to interfere in human business, I share Dezel's misgivings. A girl like Rose isn't about to change for the sake of Rolance's conventions, so those conventions are going to have to change for her. And they won't go any more quietly than she will.
I set my hat on Dezel's head. He's always wanted to wear it, even though he won't admit it anymore these days. "Cheer up, kid," I say, tossing him my best reassuring smile. "All good things must come to an end, but that doesn't mean everything is over. You can always stay with her."
Dezel's wind picks up, stoking the campfire before I still it myself. "But she'll be his vessel soon too," he growls, the firelight dancing on his face so that he looks almost feverish, his bright green eyes fixed on the flames. "I can't lose her. I won't. Not to him."
I may be able to read the wind, but in that moment, I can't read Dezel. I see his resentment easily enough, the snarl that makes him look more like a hellion than a seraph, but his expression is so dark that I can't see the thoughts behind it. So I just press my lips together and keep my hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. Hopefully, Dezel won't remember any of this come tomorrow. Not his fury, not his sorrow. Not even Rose in her wedding dress, hoisting up her skirts to dance to Eguille's fiddle and drawing Dezel back out of his brooding.
Maybe I want him to forget Rose most of all. I see the way he looks at her, feel the wind brushing along her ankles to twine around her legs. He knows better than to go any higher, so I don't nudge him till the Windriders start talking, saying the wind itself is dancing with her. They don't know how right they are, but if this keeps up, I'm afraid they might find out.
Dezel glares at me for interfering, but only briefly. His expression softens again as soon as he glances back at Rose, his attention drawn by her laughter. He's fascinated, but not by the sheen of her rich attire, as the other Windriders are. For him, it's the woman in that dress, plain and simple. Dezel would do anything for her, but he's never quite understood that his idea of her best interests and her own may be different. He has a dangerous habit of getting ahead of himself, and looking at him now, I can see that tendency more clearly than ever.
There aren't many sure things in this world, but if there's one thing I'm sure of now, it's that one of these days, his recklessness is going to get us all in trouble.