Chapter Text
Countless portraits of the goddess decorate the vast walls of countless art museums, galleries, churches, and even people’s homes.
‘Progenitor God,’ displayed in Enbarr National Museum, is one of the more famous works. It’s an epic scenery, with goddess’ light shining upon her children, her people. Ignatz saw it in person during a school trip years ago, and the memory of it still captivates him. Frankly, he can say the same about plenty of other paintings, but it doesn’t change the fact.
If Ignatz had a favorite painting of the goddess, it would definitely be that one. He found nothing on its origins, but it’s one of her looking at her kingdom. She’s facing away, on top of a building, and wind carrying her robes like flags. The color choices are odd. It’s all so bright, and faded, like it’s hard to see what’s happening if one didn’t know what they’re exactly looking at. The mysteriousness of the goddess’ actual appearance makes it more captivating.
He knows in his heart that the goddess must be the most beautiful, but he has yet to see a portrait that captures the beauty he’s imagining. Ah, not that the images of all these women aren’t beautiful! Don’t misunderstand Ignatz, all these depictions of the goddess are gorgeous, and more often than not take his breath away. It’s just…
Ignatz scrolls through the image search results on his phone, endless pictures he has seen before, some are repetitive. The goddess is always depicted with pale skin, her hair varies, either a light shade that blends into her glow, or softness of a fading brown hair. Her eyes are usually closed, or looking down, preventing their color to be seen, but when her eyes are open, they’re a different variation from blue, to green, to light hazel, or gray. It’s just not exactly what Ignatz imagines.
There’s a fleeting image of someone so beautiful in his head, but like a butterfly, it’s gone once he thinks he caught it. Ignatz is unsure who this person is. He thinks the goddess really might’ve visited him in a dream, and it’s getting frustrating being unable to recall it.
A glimpse, and then she’s gone.
There’s a half finished painting on the easel, a piece he has been struggling to finish. No portrait of the goddess seemed right to him, even his own attempts, and Ignatz would really like to finally scratch that itch.
The canvas had been laying against the beige wall of his room for a month now, unsure how to proceed with it, and it would’ve irked him further if he did nothing but try to brute force his memory.
Ignatz had another dream last night. Her face is clearer. Naturally, he immediately got to working again on the portrait.
Picking what to do for a background was a little tricky, he wanted this to be as perfect as he could with his mere skills, and, again, he wants this to be right. Maybe the image of the goddess in the sky with mighty wings, and light surrounding her is the most basic, boring route to go with, but it felt right. That vague dream… she was looking at Ignatz from up above, with white wings that cast a shadow over him. It looked something like this.
All that’s left is the goddess herself, instead of an empty space in the middle, with only a vague sketch to outline where she’d be placed.
From what he remembers of his dream… she was closer to him, and instead of white robes she’s usually depicted in, she seemed to be covered in gold? The details were unclear. She had a skin darker than the majority of people of Fódlan, and her hair was black, and curly. The goddess was most obviously not white in his dreams, as opposed to all of her portraits. Her face is a mix of visible, and vague, but Ignatz could tell she was truly the most beautiful.
Would Ignatz’s musings be called blasphemous?
“Her eyes were kind…”
Her eyes are green, and gentle. In the north of Gloucester, there lies rolling hills where cattle roam, it always seemed endless to Ignatz, like it touched the sky, and the two merged into one, into something eternal. Admittedly, he doesn’t actually remember if he did see her eyes, the depth of them, but he knows how he felt. They are precious, that much he knows, like jewels.
A text from Lorenz pulls him out of his head, a reply to an earlier conversation, and it reminds Ignatz he should get going to meet up with him.
Ignatz fixes his hair clips, and puts his camera in his usual messenger bag alongside his sketchbook, and a too-full pencil case.
__
Adjusting the lenses, Ignatz takes another photo. Lorenz isn’t looking into the camera in this one, his hair falling across his face, like a curtain that shows just enough of his concentration on the porcelain cup in his hands. The white bookcases in the background, the big windows letting in the sun rays, a brief peek into the rose garden. He thinks this picture turned out nicely.
Lorenz was always happy to be a test subject for Ignatz photography, telling him how wonderful his eye is for this sort of thing. He really is just an amateur, but he’s admittedly not immune to compliments, even if they’re not from the heart.
“Do you smell it?” Lorenz makes a gesture with his hand to take in the scent of the freshly poured tea, sitting across from Ignatz with a leg over the other. “It’s Seiros tea, but I added something.”
Seiros tea is fairly basic in its flavors, and it’s easy to guess what Lorenz concocted judging by the floral taste, and smell. That, and the tiny dried flowers. “Lavender.”
“Indeed! Not the best of mixtures, but it doesn't hurt to experiment a bit every once in a while. Still, it has a wonderful aroma.”
Ignatz makes sure his camera is secure in the bag, and fidgets with his paint stained nails under the table. Graduation is so near, and the hazy fog that follows it is starting to wander near Ignatz’s feet. His older brother is inheriting the family business, and that leaves Ignatz free to do whatever he wants. Not really, his father has his own expectations of Ignatz, and the thought of disappointing his family makes Ignatz’s stomach turn unpleasantly. Lorenz had his life plan handed to him, a plan he happily accepted. Raphael had his life turned upside down, a nauseating reminder of his guilt, and somehow laughs more than anyone he knows. Raphael is busy with worrying over his remaining family, and maintaining the inn they opened up. Leonie seems more sure than most of them about her path in life, even when the details aren’t clear, she’s planning to travel around with her mentor that she firmly believes had hung the stars in the sky. And Ignatz feels like a lost mess.
He takes another sip of the tea, and a bite of the snacks Lorenz so generously provided. Ignatz hated the idea of joining the military, but he was going to do it if his parents wished for it. He’s still unsure. Lorenz had talked about hiring him after graduation, but indecision is a chill that paralyzes his blood, and bones.
People call Lorenz a prick, a snob, and other names Ignatz would rather not repeat, and he understands why others would—do not ever tell Lorenz that. But he has always been so good to him, nice in his own way, and perhaps it’s because of his insensitivity to others that his praises seem even larger to Ignatz.
“Godfrey von Riegan is visiting next week. Have you heard? Unfortunately, I cannot say I am excited about it, considering that he’s bringing that nephew of his.”
The mention of Godfrey von Riegan twists Ignatz’s stomach from uncomfortable memories, like he’s a kid that’s pinched under the table, and forced to stay quiet about it. He thinks of Raphael, and the pinch becomes a sting. Ignatz latches onto the ‘that nephew of his’ part of the conversation.
“Nephew?” He didn't know there were any more children in the family.
“I’ve only met him once, and I don’t like him.“
Lorenz scowls, not a new expression on his face, quite the contrary. It is rare, though, that someone highborn would provoke his ire. Must be truly disagreeable.
“He is very…” Lorenz continues, flipping his hair. “Insufferable. And unmannered!”
Hm. Lorenz can be harsh, and unfair with his judgment of others, but Ignatz isn’t exactly thrilled to meet this guy. He’s glad he doesn’t have to.
“That doesn’t sound like it bodes well…”
“Well, maybe it’s good for the Gloucester family’s future, for the Riegans to have an heir that would doom them. In any case, I’ve acquired the most stunning tea set! It’s from the eighteen-hundreds, you ought to see it for yourself.”
“Ah! Is it the one you mentioned before?” Ignatz clears his throat, and tries to not look too excited to lay his eyes—maybe even his hands—on precious antiques, and to not burn his tongue by drinking his tea too fast. “I’d be more than happy to.”
___
He had another dream. This definitely means something, doesn’t it?
The goddess laughed, unclear about what, but her voice was a melody that is stuck in his head like a song he can never quite replay correctly. Maybe if he heard it again, Ignatz would be able to tell. Her kind eyes. Did he see it? They were slightly round, maybe?
Art is cathartic, and so is the frustration of trying to perfect it. Ignatz redoes his hair clips to pull his hair away from his eyes, and sketches another pair of eyes. She had beautiful long lashes, like angel wings whenever they fluttered. Hm, no, no. A little sharper, he tries, they weren’t overly round.
“What are you drawing?”
Leonie’s voice makes him jump out of his skin. “Nothing!” Ignatz shuts his sketchbook immediately, concealing his work from the eyes of others.
“Don’t get all jumpy, I’m just bringing your food.”
“Sorry…” Ignatz adjusts his glasses, and hides away his art supplies. The Blue Stone, a small cafe with more potted plants by the entrance than a nursery could sell, and it has some exquisite tea that he tried to recommend to Lorenz once, but the purple haired boy immediately scoffed at the idea of stepping into an establishment that didn’t have its sign dipped in gold. Frankly, it’s better for Ignatz, it’s not like the shop lacks customers, but the secluded atmosphere calms him. Moments of quiet. The academy is closed for the summer, and Leonie immediately had started working to save up, and pay back her debt. Apparently she has a second job as well, assisting at a gym he never heard of—not like he really has a reason to know it. It’s nice to see a familiar face while he’s out, but he’d rather not have anyone perceive him while he’s in the zone. But, no, he won’t change his usual afternoon coffee shop just because a classmate—a friend, is working there now. It’s rude.
The plate clatters against the table when Leonie puts down his vegetable pasta salad in front him, and a glass of fresh fruit juice. “It looked good, you know. Whoever it is you were drawing.”
“It’s no one specific,” he says after thanking her for both the food, and the compliment. That’s not exactly a lie, right? It’s not the goddess, he hasn’t gotten her features right yet.
In his dream, it wasn’t a divine sky that held the magnificence of the goddess, nor a blinding light that trailed behind her. It was a dull room, barely lit with candles. It surprised Ignatz how unsurprised he was with that setting, he found it natural, in a way, instead. Like it was familiar to see her there. There was much more going on in his dream, but he can only remember the feeling of how weird everything was, and that dull room where the goddess laughed.
Maybe calling the room dull is unfair, because truthfully, when he tries to conjure up that image all he sees is the goddess with everything around blurring, so it’s not like Ignatz could actually tell.
And yet, somehow, despite all his obsessions; Ignatz still can't see the goddess’ face. If it’s his memory failing him, or the goddess acting coy in her visits to his slumber, it’s still unclear.
He is starting to think he sounds crazy.
“Alright,” Leonie says as she fixes him with a look. Ah, it’s making Ignatz nervous. “Need anything else?”
“No. Thank you, no. Sorry.”
Leonie snorts, she is about to say something else, but someone calls her over, and she just sighs. “Alright.” She takes a step before she turns around for a second. “You know, you’ve gotta show me your art sometime, Ignatz. You’re always scribbling away, and yet I haven’t seen a thing you’ve drawn.”
“I have to be prepared for that,” Ignatz starts to say, trying to not stumble over his words, but Leonie is already gone. “And… yeah.”
___
Something peculiar is going on. It’s been almost a week full of verdant dreams, and Ignatz is worried this might be some sort of a psychotic breakdown. There have been two instances where he ended up waking up in the middle of the night, and squinting through the blur of everything around him so he can quickly sketch down the face of the goddess. Pages, upon pages, all filled with an unfamiliar face that he longs to create.
Ignatz wanted today to be the day he sits in front of his large canvas, and put down the face haunting his dreams onto it. Like puzzle pieces scattered around, he thinks he had slowly, but surely, put together the final picture.
Her hair is curly, and dark. Reminds him of the overnight school trip he went on last year, there was a beach near them, and everyone was excited to go swimming. When Ignatz thinks of that trip, he thinks of when he went out at night to catch some fresh air, and how glad he was that he took his camera with him, because the ocean at night looked magnificent. A gentle breeze brought with it the saltiness of the soothing waves, dark, and scarily inviting. The lights glittered like constellations on water, and peace washed over Ignatz until the spell was broken by laughter of drunkards stumbling around the sand. Ignatz wonders if every body of water carries a piece of the goddess in it.
And her face… Ignatz didn’t get to pull out his palette yet, his phone goes off, and he stares at the screen for a moment before he begrudgingly wears clothes more appropriate to be seen out in.
___
The way the rose garden is designed, it’s sectioned into three parts. There's a huge gazebo with flora climbing up its pillars, and more shrubs around it. It stands in the center of it all, with a maze on its left, and a simpler sitting area on the other side, accompanied by an extravagant fountain.
He knows Raphael is within the building as well, somewhere, but hasn't encountered him yet. It wasn’t very hard, he just walked the other way whenever he heard a particular boisterous voice, dreading any awkwardness.
Ignatz considered going into the rose garden maze, confusing everyone who might come across him, but the possibility of getting confused himself was a greater worry. That is not a stress he wants to face. He walks to the fountain, and there is a man with a cane standing near the gazebo, and he’s too far for Ignatz to properly see who it is, but he just knows. Godfrey von Riegan has set foot in Edgaria. He hurries past the gazebo quickly like he hasn’t seen anything.
The fountain is surrounded by a circle of roses, and some benches that no one really sits on. Ignatz settles on the other side of the fountain so no one passing by would see him, relieved to let the loud rush of water drown everything out.
Lorenz had invited him over for a simple get together with a friend, which usually meant he wanted a fellow art connoisseur to admire beautiful things with him. Ignatz enjoyed doing that, even if he sometimes doubts how much of a friend Lorenz actually considers him to be, but they’ve known each other for years now, so he brushes those thoughts off.
He really would rather be home, painting.
Summer air is a little stifling, but he’d open up the windows, let the chirping of the birds be his symphony, and put his brush on the canvas.
It’s fine, there are a couple of sparrows hopping on the gravel path in front of him, uncaring for his presence, and it would be a good warmup. They look lovely among all the roses, Ignatz makes the stylistic choice of having the flowers surround them much closer, making the two birds look like they’re dancing for the other’s affection. He has a watercolor set he always keeps in his bag, and he’d keep it simple, but some color will make this look more vibrant. He’s losing track of time.
Ignatz grabs some napkins to wipe his brush, and there’s this insistent sensation that demands him to look to his right—forget jumping out of his skin, his soul has become one with the clouds before it remembered the earth it should come back to. His heart is pounding, there’s someone standing behind him, probably has been there for a good while judging by their relaxed posture.
It’s a boy he doesn’t recognize, that’s what he knows, and the sun is glaring through Ignatz’s glasses, so he can’t really see his face. Ignatz has to squint from where he’s sitting on the ground.
“Woah, sorry,” says the boy, tilting his head, and a strand of hair starts swaying. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
‘Well, you did.’ Can people stop sneaking up on him all the time? He must’ve flinched so badly, that’s embarrassing. “Uhm. How long have you been there? I didn’t hear you.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to interrupt.” The boy squats down to Ignatz’s eye level, and like this he can see it was actually a braid he saw swaying with every movement of his head. “You’re quite skilled, that’s impressive.”
Ignatz stares.
This… doesn’t make any sense. He dreamt about this, both in day, and in night, but Ignatz isn’t sure what to do now. The boy in front of him looks achingly familiar, like the goddess of his dreams, and a puzzling sensation of homecoming.
Hair like the night ocean, eyes like the rolling hills. And his face… the vague face of goddess has never been clearer.
It’s all so confusing.
Hopefully he wasn’t staring for so long, Ignatz finally catches himself, and follows the pointed finger, the words ‘you’re quite skilled’ registering. Ignatz realizes his sketchbook is left wide open to be seen. He closes it shut, not caring that it doesn’t close properly due to the pencil between the pages. “I’m just passing the time.”
“So am I. I was just bored, you know, but I didn’t expect to see anyone here. Were you hiding?”
How much staring is too much staring? Ignatz is suddenly very conscious of it, counting the seconds. “Ah. No…” a lie, of course.
He gets a raise of a brow, and he studies how it looks on that face. The boy stands up, and Ignatz instinctively follows.
It’s natural to like beautiful things. The sunset, the sunrise, the flower fields, the old buildings, the antique lamp he saw online last week, the flowing dress on a beautiful woman, the light between tree leaves, the faux soft skin of a marble body, the crescent moon surrounded by stars, the worn out spines of books, the crushed shells on the beach, the stained glass in churches, the chaos of a wildfire, the rainbow after a storm, the roses in this garden. The boy in front of him. It’s natural to be captivated by beautiful things, Ignatz is no stranger to that feeling. This feels new. Familiar, in some odd way, because he’s sure he never felt this way before.
As it was mentioned before, it’s all so confusing.
Ignatz looks up, this guy is taller than him—he does realize he’s in the ‘shorter than average’ category, Ignatz is used to this.
The question leaves him before he can think twice about voicing it.
“Can I paint you?”
The other boy blinks at him.
Oh, right, that’s not normally a normal thing to ask upon first meeting.
A voice snaps them both out of the moment. “Claude.”
It’s Godfrey von Riegan walking up to them, putting a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. Claude, apparently. He’s a handsome man, Ignatz notes, short cinnamon hair, and a scar across his cheek, and lips. “Hello.”
That’s directed at him. Ignatz clears his throat. “Hello.”
“You’re Hayden’s brother, aren’t you?”
His older brother has been constantly meeting all these people who support the business, attending meetings, or be a guest in lavish parties alongside his parents. Ignatz is not surprised he’s recognized, but it’s surprising how he is. “Yes, he’s my older brother.”
“What is it, dearest uncle?” The boy- Claude interjects, and the two start walking away, taking their conversation with them, and the clacks of the cane slowly fade.
That was scary. Nerve wracking. Even for a short moment, being stared down by two Riegans wasn’t fun. Claude looks back once, Ignatz catches that, and is surprised by a departing wave. He waves back, but it’s not seen. They’re both out of sight.
So that’s the nephew Lorenz was talking about.
Ignatz has a lot to think about.