[ Sylvain offers him a lopsided grin, though there's something else behind it too, almost regretful. Dimitri trains day in and day out, out of some sense of ingrained necessity that goes beyond practicality. Felix and Ingrid too—a way for them to process their grief (or veil it), he thinks. Sylvain is the odd one out of their little group in that regard, finds escape via slacking threefold.
He lowers his eyes to the ground for a moment, huffs a soft laugh. ]
Here I should say something chivalrous like 'I'll protect you with my life!' —But you're definitely stronger than me. I can at least help you remember... I think.
[ He turns to face Dimitri and reaches over to nudge his blond bangs out of his eyes, affectionately careless. ] ...Ready?
[ He warns him to hold still (lest he accidentally give Sylvain a concussion), and tilts himself forward, until his forehead bumps amicably against Dimitri's. It's a familiar gesture, even if one they haven't used since they were kids, and Sylvain purposefully tries to remember the last time they shared a moment like this.
Instead he conjures a memory neither of them have seen before.
It's spring once more, the year begun anew, and Gronder Field burns.
You've followed your liege along a reckless march to Enbarr, your victories thus far a product of relentless fighting and luck that borders on divine intervention. The Professor helms the Kingdom's forces alongside (and in many ways in the stead of) its King, her expression deceptively placid as she surveys the enemy troops.
On the other side of the war are your former classmates, your former friends. Familiar faces from five years ago, ever lovelier, ever grim. You knew this day would come but your stomach sinks anyway, and you wish nothing more but to turn back to Garreg Mach, to Faerghus. You think that fighting in the isolated reaches of Gautier hadn't been so bad after all—better to gut a stranger than an old acquaintance.
You know the outcome of this battle already, because there is ever only one, and it is not compromise. You are trapped between two ideals that demand blood and flame to see to fruition; subjugation, and vengeance.
You believe in neither, but you ride into hell anyway because you're desperate enough to reach the end of this madness, you don't care whether you fall in the process. You trample down a young foot soldier and behead another bowman with ease.
You do not have to luxury of avoidance or choice. Edelgard's generals are strong (Garreg Mach's finest), and they pose the greatest threat to the Kingdom. Many of them you remember well, even fondly, but nostalgia serves no purpose here.
After all this time you still think back to your brother, how his death had been terrible but ultimately justifiable—he had become a monster. His remaining men had been a blight among the populace. Cornelia's dogs had been traitors to the crown. The imperial soldiers had laid siege on Garreg Mach and invaded your home.
You'll later recount each skirmish that has led you here and you'll wonder who will be the one next to justify your death—one that would be just as much unforgivable, just as much deserved.
Until then, you continue to fight like you want to die. ]
[ doesn't actually remember anything about fe3h ]
[ Sylvain offers him a lopsided grin, though there's something else behind it too, almost regretful. Dimitri trains day in and day out, out of some sense of ingrained necessity that goes beyond practicality. Felix and Ingrid too—a way for them to process their grief (or veil it), he thinks. Sylvain is the odd one out of their little group in that regard, finds escape via slacking threefold.
He lowers his eyes to the ground for a moment, huffs a soft laugh. ]
Here I should say something chivalrous like 'I'll protect you with my life!' —But you're definitely stronger than me. I can at least help you remember... I think.
[ He turns to face Dimitri and reaches over to nudge his blond bangs out of his eyes, affectionately careless. ] ...Ready?
[ He warns him to hold still (lest he accidentally give Sylvain a concussion), and tilts himself forward, until his forehead bumps amicably against Dimitri's. It's a familiar gesture, even if one they haven't used since they were kids, and Sylvain purposefully tries to remember the last time they shared a moment like this.
Instead he conjures a memory neither of them have seen before.
It's spring once more, the year begun anew, and Gronder Field burns.
You've followed your liege along a reckless march to Enbarr, your victories thus far a product of relentless fighting and luck that borders on divine intervention. The Professor helms the Kingdom's forces alongside (and in many ways in the stead of) its King, her expression deceptively placid as she surveys the enemy troops.
On the other side of the war are your former classmates, your former friends. Familiar faces from five years ago, ever lovelier, ever grim. You knew this day would come but your stomach sinks anyway, and you wish nothing more but to turn back to Garreg Mach, to Faerghus. You think that fighting in the isolated reaches of Gautier hadn't been so bad after all—better to gut a stranger than an old acquaintance.
You know the outcome of this battle already, because there is ever only one, and it is not compromise. You are trapped between two ideals that demand blood and flame to see to fruition; subjugation, and vengeance.
You believe in neither, but you ride into hell anyway because you're desperate enough to reach the end of this madness, you don't care whether you fall in the process. You trample down a young foot soldier and behead another bowman with ease.
You do not have to luxury of avoidance or choice. Edelgard's generals are strong (Garreg Mach's finest), and they pose the greatest threat to the Kingdom. Many of them you remember well, even fondly, but nostalgia serves no purpose here.
After all this time you still think back to your brother, how his death had been terrible but ultimately justifiable—he had become a monster. His remaining men had been a blight among the populace. Cornelia's dogs had been traitors to the crown. The imperial soldiers had laid siege on Garreg Mach and invaded your home.
You'll later recount each skirmish that has led you here and you'll wonder who will be the one next to justify your death—one that would be just as much unforgivable, just as much deserved.
Until then, you continue to fight like you want to die. ]