crestbound

aegisshielded​:

When he is able to muster the control to do so, Felix lets out a long, exhausted sigh as he accepts the situation. Sylvain saw him look incredibly weak to the point of tears and here he was comforting Felix. Despite returning to his past as the little crybaby child that came running to Sylvain–the older, stronger kid–to come to his defense, Felix is still worth the effort of comforting for Sylvain. 

And, for the first time in who knows how long, Sylvain’s words are genuine as they exit his mouth. There is no joke, no deflection, nothing to turn the conversation away from admitting guilt or causing worry. Sylvain’s apology is genuine and it’s enough to cause a tightening in Felix’s chest. 

Another long sigh escaped Felix before he gives up and leans into Sylvain’s side, accepting the comfort. Felix is too weak and tired to fight it, to push Sylvain away like he pushes everyone far enough to be a sword’s length away from him. The feeling of Sylvain’s caring touch is enough to melt away the ice Felix had built up in the redhead’s absence. 

“I wasn’t scared,” Felix lies. "I was pissed.“ That much is also true, though. "I specifically told you not to die, and you went and did it anyways, you idiot.” He rests his head on Sylvain’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He’s warm, and he feels like comfort and home, like their childhood. It’s a shame it’s lulling Felix to sleep, since Felix has more harsh words for Sylvain. 

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain says again, thumb stroking Felix’s shoulder in slow circles. “I wasn’t trying to die or anything, it just...”

...kind of happened.

(And it’d been terrifying, not in any way that sent his heart crashing through his ribs, but in a way that felt like drowning. With his thoughts so fractured and desperate, he couldn’t think of a single damn thing he had to look forward to, but a part of him still didn’t want to die. Not there, and not then—as if he had any place better to die.

Stupid, right?)

“...I’ll be more careful, next time,” he decides on instead. “...Heh; you probably don’t remember, but I made a pretty important promise with a cute kid many years ago. He’d cry and cry, getting snot all over my shirt, so one day, we made a promise—that one would never die without the other.” It’s an old promise, though, and far too heavy for a couple of children to be making with full understanding of its meaning. He doubts Felix remembers it, or takes it very seriously if he does, but for Sylvain? It’d been a lifeline on many occasions.

petrykos​:

𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨 casually ( and oddly, didn’t that require more effort than bending down? ) picks up his weapon with his foot of all things, his words that may make the average and ignorant victim surrender their defenses. It all made her internally grimace and cringe at how seemingly confident he was—unreadable, yet surface-level personable. She didn’t like it. She wanted to keep her guard up. Use him being weaponless to her advantage by pinning him with the end and figure out just what he wanted.

          But she retracts.

          Her country was undoubtedly weak spot. A simple mention of it, softens her core and maybe, she thinks, she had been too quick to judge at first glance. 

          “…” Her sword flourishes as if it were ribbon before it is encapsulated back in its sheath. “Maybe you are not as senseless and shallow as they are saying.” Observant, even. She hadn’t an accurate idea of his true fighting style, but he seemed familiar enough with his lance as she was with a sword, extensions of themselves.

          “Brigid cannot take all the credit for its fighting techniques. Dagda has a large influence over it.” She levels him with a look between confusion and eagerness. “Are… you having interest?”

Shallow? Senseless? Well... he’s definitely heard worse. Actually, he’s pretty sure that those two words are the nicest way he’s been described in a pretty long while. Imagine that.

“Oh, yeah—but if I’m honest, I’m a little more interested in the history and culture than the fighting styles. There’s a lot of reverence given for nature, right? And it translates to the way you go about your hunts, and the way you make homes, and all that stuff.”

It’s... an overly simplified summarization of what he’d read, but why bother reciting it all to her when it was her home?

“I’ve been reading about it,” Sylvain admits with a sheepish smile. “Not that there were too many books, at least on this end of Fódlan, but—hey, if you’re ever bored and wanna reminisce about your homeland, I wouldn’t mind if you talked to me about it.”

And, before he forgets:

verseandrhyme​:

“Perhaps so.” After all, is that not what she did? Did she not join her father’s war to simply speed along the inevitable, to accept the path that was laid out before her to more quickly achieve the end result?

“So you fight because it’s the path of least resistance?“

Hmm. What an unexpected way to have that memory thrown back at her.

He prods her into it, so she finishes what’s left of their shared snack. Her fingers are sticky, even with the provided napkin. She will have to refrain from reaching for her brush for now.

“I do not really listen of what others presume of me.” She admits. “If they are not the words of someone I care about, then what does it matter? If I performed for every audience member who happened upon my stage, I would be exhausted. Not to mention the amount of time that could be put to use in better practices.” Such as resting, for one.

“I find it surprisingly to know that you care so much, for one who seems to put every effort into appearing not to. But you are right.” She reaches out for the spiral food they had gotten, curious about the next treat on their list. “People will do and think what they want, inevitably. Are you going to try it, or may I have some? The price of my time / Is quite a steep one, you know? / You are delaying.”

“Impatient,” Sylvain teases, and holds out the spiral potato snack for her to try. “Careful, it’s hot, too.”

Not that she’d really heeded his warning the first time, but hey—at least now, she can’t say he didn’t warn her. Sylvain doesn’t mind, though; he’s always enjoyed watching his friends enjoy their food, and while he’s sure that Mitama would deny with her very last breath that they definitely aren’t friends, at least they’re acquaintances (or whatever) enough to be enjoying a carnival together.

“So, you’re into haiku and stuff, huh? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised; you’re pretty... haicute.”

Not the most charming thing he’s said, but the pun’s enough to make him grin unapologetically. Haiku? Haicute? He’s a literary genius. Alois would be proud, which, sure, isn’t saying too much, but hey—he’ll get brownie points where he can find ‘em.

elegiac-boar​:

And there it was again, duty. The difference between them, a prince and his knight, a chasm sitting right in the middle of their friendship. It made Dimitri feel tired- impossibly so. No matter how hard he tried, it would always circle back to the same spot- those he considered his best friends putting ditstance between them and him, because of duty.

It felt lonely, like he was surrounded by employees or servants rather than people who were around him because they genuinely liked him.

A nameless boar with a crown, that’s more likely.

“Stop.” They already had that talk before, in Tagzig- but it felt like it was for nothing. “I am begging you…to stop.”

It was a different type of pain- not the searing stab that made his eyes tear up from the first time they discussed this. Now, it felt persistent and dull, like when you get hit really hard in a battle and the spot stays as a painful bruise for days on end- not hurting that much, but still there whenever it’s touched.

Why though?

Did the flutter in his stomach from earlier somehow made this hurt more than it should? The clear cut of a wall between them, how Sylvain would never see them as equals no matter how much Dimitri insisted and reassured? How it made the unknown yet ambiciously possible feeling that had bloomed in his chest now no more than a cold and hard-set impossibility?

It was so short-lived. It was best to not give it any more thought.

The prince shook his head. “I am not your responsibility. We are…friends, Sylvain. We should look out for each other equally. Enough of this duty thing, please.” Suddently, he had an idea. After much thinking, the prince reached out for Sylvain’s left hand. Pausing briefly, he was mindful to remove his gauntlets and gloves to avoid making a mistake, pinning them under his arm- and so silently and as gently as he could, Dimitri wrapped his own pink ribbon around the redhead’s wrist.

If there is any entity out there who listens to my words, divine or not

As I tie this knot, please grant Sylvain a life that he deserves. One where he may look in the mirror and genuinely smile at the reflection staring back. One where he does not have to reduce himself to an asset or knight. 

One where he finally meets the person who makes his days the paradise.

It is not a matter of spectacular, but the plea from a friend.

May this Crest never haunt him again.

The knot was loose enough- if the redhead wished to take it off, all he needed was to tug on the ribbon. It had taken Dimitri every bout of self-control, his hands shaking ever so slightly, to not tie it too tight.

“The loss of a loved one’s life will never not be my fault.” That’s just how it is. How it had always been. The burn marks on his hands are enough to justify. “I do not say that as a prince, but as a person. Even if the outcome of that battle was already set by fate.” 

@crestbound​

“Hey, now.” 

Talking—he has to keep talking. He can feel the heat all the way to his ears, conflicting so heavily with the nausea in his gut that Sylvain finds himself running wholly on autopilot, running his mouth without pausing, really, to think about the weight of each word. The gesture is sweeter than he deserves, and coming from Dimitri? Infinitely more genuine, too. It leaves Sylvain floundering, for once at a loss; what are you supposed to do with such pure, sweet affection? (What has he done, what has he ever known, than to ruin it in his hands?) 

“That’s not very fair, you know. I’m not your responsibility because we’re friends, but because we’re friends, I’m yours?”

Hypocrite, he almost says, and it’s a minor miracle that he doesn’t. Pot, meet kettle. 

“...Ah... well, forget it,” Sylvain says, holding the ribboned hand close to his side as if something—or someone—might come by to snatch it away from him. “Look at us, getting all down and serious about something silly. I mean, it’s all in the past, and everything’s fine now, right? We should be having fun! Going out, talking to some cute girls and guys...”

Because it’s easier. It helps him feel like he’s settling back in his skin.

irroche​:

✦ ` sylvain gautier, in the business of purchasing a chess board for himself? not merely a chessboard, mind. a custom one. if the disbelief isn’t obvious in her expression, it is in the way that she says ’ oh. ’ the apparent enthusiasm in his tone is the only thing that has her hold her tongue. while she cannot say that she knows everything that there was to know of the kingdom and its nobles, constance von nuvelle was of the mind that she was at least well-informed of them. her time spent in fhirdiad was not meaningless, nor her time in abyss. the possibility that he, a skirt-chasing lothario, could possibly find interest in anything beyond tormenting his ill-gotten women gives her pause.

it is a ploy.

an unconvincing one.

“no,” comes her abrupt reply, her hand falling away from her chin. constance would not be so convinced. she wouldn’t accept an offer so obviously pointless. what is his aim? true, she would have what she needed for her work in exchange for agreeing to an afternoon sipping tea with him and prattling on about whatever manner he should deem of her interest. just as easily, she could agree and abscond with her things to abyss with him none the wiser to her whereabouts. he could not be so blind as to not acknowledge that as a potential truth.

or maybe, simply, he doesn’t care enough to fret over it. it would take her longer to procure everything on her own means and a great deal more costly, but it seems—no, she wouldn’t accept such terms.

“i will offer you another proposition.”

digits curl lightly against her collarbone, constance offering a polite smile. he has not done or said anything particularly egregious to earn her ire. “i best you in a game of chess with that board of yours. only then, shall you accompany me in my errands.” she reasons. fair enough, was it not? she would feel as if though she earned it and he would still get what he desired of her—time, a resource she can ill-afford. she can hardly think that a game would suffice in exchange for even just one of the things on her list, but she had little to offer in exchange. no money of her own, no political will—neither of which constance thinks he would be interested in anyway. a game then.

she’d have him in no more than two moves and no more.

...Huh.

He’d thought that the tea would’ve gotten her; it’s a pretty good deal, after all, considering all she needed to give him was patience and some time. But if she wanted to play chess instead, well...

“How can I ever say no to breaking in a new board with the loveliest girl I’ve ever met?” Sylvain’s smile widens. “You beat me, and I get to treat you to your crazy shopping list. What do I get if I win?”

Because he’s pretty sure he will. Granted, he’s never actually played against Constance before, but he gets the feeling that she’s probably an aggressive player—white start, maybe sacrificing a pawn to begin so she’d eventually lead with her rooks, cornering his queen to arrest her movements. Or maybe she’d choose pawn to e5 first...? Whichever opening she chooses, he’s quite excited now, and finds himself hoping for a fun game rather than an easy one. It isn’t often that he finds himself with an actual chess partner, after all.

“I was thinking I could ask for a date,” Sylvain continues, guiding her further into the monastery. The place he’d originally wanted to enjoy some tea with her would double nicely for a quick game of chess. “But a game and a prize after would count as one. So how about this: I win, and you give me one thing that you own. It won’t be anything big or crazy, I promise.”

lalamines​:

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I’d hate to bore you with my silly little problems.” Mercedes laughed self-deprecatingly. Sylvain looks quite serious though and it’s a very generous offer. He’d been so honest with her, she owed him the same. “It’s very kind of you to offer. As long as you’re sure, I would appreciate a kind ear.”

The Goddess was always an open ear but burdens always felt halved when shared with a dear friend. Mercedes took a deep breath, fidgeting with her hands. Listening to others however came more easily to her than divulging her own trivial little issues. She stared at her hands as though they would provide her the resolve she needed.

Sylvain asked her though, as a friend. Mercedes raised her head and smiled at him fondly.

“I’ve received a letter from my adoptive father recently. Several, actually,” a sigh escaped her lips, one she hadn’t been aware she was holding back. The topic of her adoptive father was so terribly frustrating, they just couldn’t see eye to eye. Mercedes knew though that she would likely end up following his whims and desires for her life, rather than her own. That much seemed inevitable. “He’s asking about the men I’ve met here. If there are any marriage prospects, to be specific. Only noblemen need apply!”

This time her laugh came out bitterly. “That’s why he allowed me to come here in the first place. Although he’s already lined up several potential suitors to marry me off to himself. I believe the youngest of whom is forty-three.” Mercedes was well aware she was older than most of her friends here but the idea of marrying a man over twenty years her senior felt… uncomfortable to say the least. “I don’t think he’s planning on doing anything about it yet though. He’s probably hoping I catch Dimitri’s eye or something.”

“I’m sorry, this must be terribly dull. It’s just so frustrating,” Mercedes confessed. It felt good to get thing off her chest, knowing Sylvain understood the woes of being born with a crest. The feeling of being a prize for someone else to take. “I have no intention of marrying anytime soon. Especially someone I hardly even know. I want to help people. I’ve thought about working for the church but my adoptive father is determine to marry me to some nobleman who wants to adorn his bloodline with a crest.” 

Her smile had turned watery but she found herself laughing. It really did feel wonderful to talk to a good friend like this.

It’s an issue he’s been hearing more of, lately—marriage, dreadful and looming, hanging over an increasing number of his friends’ heads. It’d been an expectation above his own since before he even knew the weight of a weapon, and similarly for Ingrid, the only one blessed (or cursed, if you ask him) with a Crest amongst her siblings. But add to that Dimitri and now Mercedes... it feels almost like some sort of craze is sweeping through the nobility, now making demands where they once made gentle requests.

Sylvain hates it.

“Nah, it’s not dull. Nothing you say ever is, you know,” he replies, reaching almost immediately for a handkerchief.

...A handkerchief that isn’t there because, right, the girl from the markets had insisted she keep it, and who had he been to say no?

“I get it,” Sylvain continues, reaching into his other pocket—and there it is, his back-up handkerchief, always kept for moments like these. (Just... infinitely less genuine, usually.) He holds it out for Mercedes to take with a small smile. “Feeling like you’re being pigeonholed into a future you don’t want, and knowing you don’t really have a choice about it. But what can we do, right?”

Being born with a Crest has never felt like a blessing. Never.

STATUS: Passed

SKILL POINTS GAINED: +1

SKILL POINTS ALLOCATION: Riding E+ → Riding D

elegiac-boar​:

“…there is no need for you to apologize, Sylvain. It was not your fault.”

None of them were prepared for an enemy like that- and most likely nobody except the inhabitants of Tagzig themselves would know how to fight those things. All of them were at a clear disadvantage from the start.

“If anything, I am the one who must apologize.” I should have died in your place. “You did not deserve that fate- I….as a ruler and as a friend, I have failed you horribly during the entire mission.” So many close calls, times where Dimitri’s body simply refused to cooperate and could barely handle the lance. “Forgive me.”

The guilt of holding on to a blessed weapon that healed his wounds while Sylvain had to suffer at his side. Shameful- it was no better than those nobles that enjoyed lives of riches and abundance while their people starved on the streets. Dimitri felt disgusted by it, by himself.

A cursed being, you are. For such a wretch of a pseudo-human to remain standing while others much more fit for life meet their ends. Disappointing.

Dimitri frowned.

Landing the last blow didn’t feel as rewarding as it should have. “It…was not good. When I finished the titan off, it did not feel like a victory.” I was being fueled by grief and anguish alone. It felt painful, miserable. I do not wish to experience that ever again. “If anything, I felt like I might as well have been defeated.” Because what did they win from that battle, even? Their own survival, at most. Which Dimitri was happy for- regarding the lives of the rest of the team, that is.

As for himself, he stood there wondering if the Goddess would ever be satisfied and just toss him aside. It reminded him of Gustave’s words in a chilly evening, about how dog toys made squeaky sounds to simulate a suffering prey which to them felt exciting. Dimitri was never able to find out if this was true or not, but one thing he was sure.

That’s was the Goddess was doing to him now. No more than a squeaky toy, forever mimicking dying prey to excite an eager predator.

“I am happy that you are alive, however.” He uttered out of the blue. It was a difficult truth, but one nonetheless. “I do not care how you and the others were brought back to life but…all that matters is that you are here, right now. That is more than enough for me.” In a life where everything was taken from him without question, being actually given something dear back felt surreal. Impossible. The world couldn’t possibly be so kind.

A weak chuckle. “Felix will surely hate me even more for allowing you to die. I am sorry. I should…I should have done more for you.” See, that’s why Felix is right. I have no right to have friends if I am unable to protect them.

How am I even supposed to find love if I am that selfish? It’ll never happen. 

@crestbound​

Felix... right.

“Hey, hey—none of that.” Dimitri looks like he’s well on his way to something bad. It’s in the shiftiness of his eyes and the way his shoulders slump lower than Sylvain’s ever seen them. It’s in the way he can’t choose which foot to rest his weight on, and the way he can’t quite look at Sylvain directly, and the way he looks like he’s about to spiral, endless and miserable. Sylvain knows; he sees it in the mirror sometimes, pretty smile and all.

“I wasn’t your responsibility, you know. If anything, you were mine.” After all, between a knight and his king, whose life is more valuable? Even a child can answer the question correctly. “Besides, there was nothing you could’ve possibly done to change what happened. I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Sylvain almost reaches to rub the back of his neck, but—right, wall. His fingers twitch, feeling antsy, wanting to do something, to move. He shoves them into his pockets instead.

“Even if you did everything perfectly, some things are just inevitable. I know it’s easier said than done, but...”

...but what, don’t think about it? It’s not like anyone wants to, but the memories are still there. For some, it’s in their scars. For others, it’s in their habits. For everyone, it’s probably in their dreams, too. It’s certainly in his; he doesn’t think he’s had a single morning where he could wake up without feeling like he was choking on his own blood, or like the weight of the blankets were a million times heavier, crushing his bones.

aegisshielded

Read More

“Don’t apologize; you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He doesn’t wait for Felix’s permission to sit next to him, one arm extending to wrap around a trembling shoulder to draw him in close. It’s not that Sylvain has nothing to say, but that he has too many things he should. Where should he even start? Where could he?

“That’s to say... you never should have to. Not to me, at least. It’s not a crime to show your feelings, you know.” His thumb circles around Felix’s shoulder. It’s difficult to organize the hundred things he wants to say in any order that makes sense. “You used to come crying to me all the time as a kid. I know I tease you for it now, but it used to make me really happy.”

Because it’d meant that Felix trusted him, that Felix felt safe around him. And even back then, Sylvain remembers thinking, isn’t that okay? Can’t he have that? Felix and Ingrid were going to be family. Felix was born to stay by Dimitri’s side. So to be a source of comfort... to be something for Felix, no matter how temporary—was that too much to take away?

“We’re not kids anymore, but I wouldn’t mind being used as a tissue whenever you need one again. I hear I still give great hugs.” It’s a smile Felix doesn’t see, but that’s alright. Sylvain tilts his head to rest it against Felix’s, and breathes out a slow, quiet sigh.

kirablik​:

Hands remove themselves from the board as soon as they’re finished, and Sylavin twirls the board around. They play first now with the army of white chess pieces sitting prettily, waiting for them to make their move. They are deep in thought, leaning forward on a propped up elbow with their hand cupped around their chin. 

This allows them a chance at an opening rather than a defense. Should they go French? No, Norwegian or Russian at the very least. A variation. They need to play well and give Sylvain a challenge, but it’d be no fun winning two games in a row. Should they throw the game? No way; he’d never forgive them, and they wouldn’t like it. 

The second he says that word, Kiran’s elbow slips out from under them. They almost hit the table, when they catch themselves, cheeks burning up from embarrassment. A white pawn falls over. “A DATE!?” They almost shriek the word, instead covering their mouth so they don’t wake up the entire dormitory let alone act like an idiot. 

Ah, well, too late for one or both of those things.

Mouth opens and closes uselessly. “Buh, uh, I, Uh. A…. a date? With me?” Finger points to themselves. “Me? Noo… No.” 

They relax again, sitting up while they set the white pawn up again simultaneously. “No, no. You don’t mean that. Ah ha… Whew!” They laugh it off, smile pulling at their lips when they push their hair back over their shoulder. 

“And here I thought you almost meant it. Way to throw me off.” Finger wags at Sylvain. “Good tactic. A bit ruthless, but this is war, so who cares, right?” 

They are back to focusing on the game, albeit their cheeks still warm from the sudden scare. (Or was it excitement? Hard to tell when you’ve never been on a date let alone been noticed by anyone in this way.)

They got too comfortable, and he used that. They’ll have to flex again, it seems. “Your move.” They move their pawn forward.

Now that he actually knows what Kiran is capable of—or at least, a part of what they can do—Sylvain’s more careful about the way he plays. He studies the board; only a single pawn has been moved, but this means they’ve already decided on how to open. Every move has a counter; should he defend? Should he counterattack?

...Ha. He doesn’t remember the last time he had this much fun.

“I do mean it,” Sylvain replies, moving his own pawn forward before he settles back in his seat with a comfortable grin. “I’d love to take you out for... well, anything. We could eat, or catch a show in town, or... well, since you’re new, you probably haven’t had much time to actually look around, right? There’s plenty of really nice bookstores that are tucked away into corners, and they’re pretty hard to find if you don’t know where you’re going.”

His gaze falls back to the board again, trying to anticipate what Kiran will do next. The knight, maybe...?

lalamines​:

Mercedes lets out a fond laugh when he approaches, tongue dripping honey as usual. She had, initially, suspected his compliments to be insincere. Just an attempt to make her swoon. She knew better now, that whilst his praise often seemed exaggerated, they had come to an understanding as friends. Now, when he calls her beautiful, she may not believe it herself but she knows he means it.

“Good afternoon Sylvain, did you come here to pray too?” Mercedes asks him. He isn’t particularly devout by any means but the cathedral was a place of sanctuary and peace. She wants him to feel welcome there, just as she always has.

Just as she does around him. Sylvain is warm-hearted and magnanimous, the kind of man who bends over backwards for his friends. Wears a grin on his lips like a badge of honour, uplifting the people around him and trying to cover up the hurt that hides behind the smile.

The world could be cruel place, yet it hadn’t turned him cold.

“You’re not interrupting at all, I’m grateful for the company,” she greets him, shuffling along the pew to make room for him. Even if Mercedes had been busy, she’d make time for Sylvain. She always was. Regarding him with a soft smile she asks, “do you need anything or did you just want to chat?”

“Nah. No need to pray for anything when the answer to every wish is standing right in front of me,” he winks, and drops the pretenses when he takes the seat she made for him.

“I just wanted to chat—though, I’ve been thinking that when it’s you, those two things are just about the same. It kind of feels like every time I come to ‘just chat’ with you, I end up spilling my heart out and embarrassing myself.” Like the time he’d cried in front of her. That’d been...

(Cathartic.)

...definitely something.

elegiac-boar​:

“I mean- y-yeah, yeah…” He still felt jittery, but it calmed for a moment. Ah…the other ribbons were wishes for our classmates? Oh Sylvain…

Amidst his bit of a panic, Dimitri smiled softly. “Well, thank you for proving my point. That you are so much more than what people say.” He took in a deep breath, urging his heart to stay in place and for his face to lose its red tint. “Had you been the Sylvain others see, you would not have used your wishes for our classmates, but for futile things. Always…you are thinking about us. That is not something a good-for-nothing does, you see.”

A soft chuckle, barely covered his his hand. “You are impossibly kind. Genuinely so. I say because I have met my fair share of people who fake kindness in order to approach me.” A pause. “Girls, too. I have had girls approach me before, the same way some approach you.”

Hoping to charm him, to get him to date them and turn them into the future queen of Faerghus. Because he has money, because he has a Crest, because he is literally a royal.

“I know that it is difficult to give yourself credit when so many people out there see you as a shiny little object to add to their family name.” A self deprecating smile. “Which is why i urge you to believe in our words. Our as in…the people who know you, who like you. Who only wish for your best.”

Careful, careful. You just managed to get things back in place, don’t let yourself be overwhelmed again. 

Easy, because soon after Dimitri’s cheeks were pink again- but from a little bit of anger and annoyance. Without thinking, the prince stepped forward and as carefully as he could, pressed Sylvain against a nearby wall in a way that was supposed to look a tiny bit intimidating, but failing.

“Then let us make it fair. You may go on and on about how you are always there for me, to listen to my woes, that letting it all out is good for you, yet when I say the same you keep dancing around my words. I will no longer put up with that, Sylvain.” Oh no, oh no.

“How can I be open with you if you are not open with me? I-” Ah, I’m a failure. “I like and care about you, legitimately so. And before you laugh it off in any way, I assure you that I am being serious, because I-…I would not have covered your body with my coat and cried over your chest back in Tagzig if this was not the case. I grieved for you, Sylvain. I grieved for you so much.”

The last bit of the sentence was spoken in a tone akin to a whisper. Was this even the right this to say? How else was he supposed to drive the point home, even? Ugh, Sylvain is so difficult. But it’s not like I am much better.

It felt wrong to admit this.

@crestbound​

...Ah.

The conversation is inevitable, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier to have. He has thought, on more than one occasion, that maybe it might have been easier if he hadn’t been brought back at all. His parents certainly wouldn’t be happy, but Miklan absolutely would. With no heir, they’d be forced to welcome him back into the family, regardless of his status or his sins. He might not have a Crest, but he still has Gautier blood in his veins; with Sylvain gone, he’d be the only choice they have.

But realistically, that wouldn’t solve a thing at all, would it? Things were ruined irreparably the moment Sylvain was born. The margrave would still despise his firstborn; the margravine would count him a failure. And Miklan, for all his strengths and effort, would still be angry and bitter, because he could be the kind of man they write books and sing songs about, but still, he’d never be enough in their eyes.

And Sylvain...

“...I’m sorry.”

(...in the end, dying was terrifying, wasn’t it?)

In the end, he did keep his promises. He told Dimitri that he’d be fine. He told Felix that he’d come back. And look at him now—he’s walking, and he’s breathing, and he’s in top shape.

None of that change the fact that he feels like a liar.

“If I could’ve spared you from having to see it, at least, I would’ve.” His fingers drum against the wall. It’s tempting to fall back into what’s comfortable; he could joke about how he hoped his face had been left untouched, at least, or call Dimitri his Prince Charming, come to rouse the Sleeping Beauty from his rest. Being honest is difficult when it means he has to show all the parts of himself that he’s never really liked.

“You know, I was wondering why the cathedral seemed to be glowing and ethereal today, but I should’ve known from the beginning that it was because you’re here, Mercedes.”

And indeed, she does make a beautiful picture, doesn’t she? There’s light from the stained glass windows shining down on her, and if he were in a more romantic mood, he might even add that she looks like an angel when she’s standing there, blessed by the heavens above. But in truth, it’s always going to be her eyes that are the most beautiful.

Gentle, and warm, and accepting. A part of him still expects the weight of judgment from them, but no matter when he approaches her or what kind of line is on his tongue, she looks at him just like this—like she might not completely understand him, but she certainly will try.

That’s what makes her so beautiful: that even after all she’d been through, she’s still like this. Not bitter and angry, not desperate to ruin everything that’s ever ruined her, but just... compassionate.

“Hey,” Sylvain greets with a grin. “Not interrupting, am I?”

verseandrhyme​:

She accepts the napkin with a small noise of thanks as she wipes first at her fingers and then her face. He has joined her on the ground in the time it takes her to gather herself, and while the company is not necessarily sought after, she would be unnecessarily cruel to deny that he was, at the very least, pleasant company when he was like this.

She does shoot him an unimpressed glance at his half-hearted flirting, however.

“We are only dating.” She grumbles as she readjusts her grip on her pastry so that she may take another bite without causing further mess. “I am not set to marry anyone.” For a moment, she bristles, wondering if news of that entire mess has spread amongst the students. It takes her a moment to settle. No, it is more likely to simply be the result of assumptions and mistakes.

“Your claim is also rude. I do not care that he is a prince. If I was simply after a title, Shiro would be far less complicated. I care about the person I am dating and that they have a head on their shoulders far more than any title they may wear. It is no fun talking to a wall.”

His claim makes her pause. Friends. She would hardly call them friends. This was only their second meeting, and she had been a breath away from killing him the first. After the month they had..

Mitama swallows and hums thoughtfully and tries not to think of tigers and dragons as she sighs and lays back on the grassy grounds. She holds the sweeter treat out to him, offering him another piece before she forgets herself and eats it entirely. “Perhaps if you played the part of the fumbling jezebel, you would find yourself amongst warmer company more frequently.”

Sylvain laughs, taking another piece of her treat. It leaves his fingers stickier than he likes, even when he wipes it afterwards with a napkin, but he supposes it can’t really be helped with the kinds of food that tend to be served at carnivals.

“I don’t think it’ll really matter what part I play,” he replies, gently nudging her arm back to allow her to eat the rest. “People are always going to see what they expect, or what they want to see. Take you dating a prince—see how my first assumption was that it was for some tangible gain rather than sweet, true love? I can’t be the only one.”

It’s what most women tend to be like, anyway. They see what they want—a title, riches, every comfort imaginable—and they know how to get it. Love and affection; sweet words and a tender kiss; everyone has something they want, wouldn’t it be a fair enough trade?

“That said, I have more fun the way I am. I’m not looking for anything long-term or heavy; I’m just looking to have a bit of fun.” Everyone knows that. It’s just when they start thinking they could be special, or that they could change him, that everything goes awry. But, hey, still doesn’t matter in the least, right? It won’t change the fact that he’ll be married off to a random noblewoman and be expected to pop out Crested kid after Crested kid.

aegisshielded​:

Sylvain’s voice, now closer and not muffled by the door, makes Felix’s entire body ache. He can feel the weight of Sylvain’s presence on the bedside and, at the very least, it reassures Felix that the redhead is, in fact, alive and there beside him once again. On the other hand, though, it reminds him that there was a chance that Sylvain would not have returned, would not be right there on his bedside chastising him for not taking care of himself properly. 

The hand on his shoulder, the pulling up of the blanket to cover him better, Sylvain’s attempts at teasing him or acting casual about the whole ordeal, it’s enough to drive Felix insane. In an instant, Felix is sitting up, outrage lighting his tired, amber eyes. His head spins in its lightness but he glares at Sylvain before reeling a hand back and slapping Sylvain across the face, hard. 

“You promised,” he hisses through clenched teeth. No, he never did promise, but at the same time… It was unspoken. It was agreed upon. Sylvain was to do nothing stupid that would risk his life, and he was to return from the mission without relative harm. "You–“ Felix feels his throat clench, but he persists. 

"You fucking died out there,” he continues, and he grabs the front of Sylvain’s shirt with one hand, tangling the fabric between his fingers. "Did you jump in front of a blade meant for the Boar? Or did you do something even more stupid, like running head first into danger despite- despite knowing–“ The words become lost in his throat as it grows tighter, tighter. And suddenly, he feels like he can’t breathe.

A second slap would’ve felt better—because the moment Felix sobs, Sylvain swears that his heart breaks right in two.

aegisshielded​:

The rumors that start as whispers turn to shouts as others around the campus of Garreg Mach begin to pester Felix if he had heard about what happened. Initially, he paid no mind to it all. It was just more mindless chatter about nothing important, but when familiar names arose, Felix finally caved and asked a classmate about the rumors. 

It turns out to be much worse than he thought it could be, and it sends him into a spiral he doesn’t know how to pull himself out of. 

The news reaches him before the students’ return from their mission, and Felix has already gone down his usual path of avoidance. He trains for hours on end, skipping classes to stay in the training grounds. He works himself sick, to the point of his stomach rejecting his meals when he chooses to eat them. It is only when the students finally return that Felix abandons the training area and hides away in his bedroom. From the dawn of their return to now, Felix remained in his room buried underneath his covers in the hopes that the sinking feeling of dread eating at his stomach will fade in time for him to face the present. 

But the present waits for no one, nor does the past or future, and the rapid, irregular knocks on Felix’s door has him curling into himself with a groan. He buries his face in his pillow and hopes that Sylvain will go away. Felix isn’t ready to face him yet. Not yet. Not when he can’t even stand up without feeling like he’s swaying, like his knees will buckle from underneath him when he sees Sylvain standing there, very much alive despite what he’s heard. 

The knocking does not cease, though, and Felix knows that Sylvain is stubborn in his own way, insistent upon his own actions. So, despite his disheveled, unkempt state–barefooted and hair pointing this way and that, untied–Felix rises from his bed and opens the door to stare up at Sylvain with exhausted eyes, dark circles beneath them. He grabs Sylvain roughly by the front of his shirt and pulls him into the room, then slams the door shut and returns to his bed, burrowing back into it without a word to Sylvain. Let the fool explain himself first. 

But what is there to explain? He died, then he didn’t. Even if it feels more complicated than that, the facts narrow down to those five words, don’t they?

“Hey,” Sylvain says, which is both a lot and clearly not enough. Felix looks awful; it doesn’t take much guessing to realize he’s probably heard the news well before everyone managed to slink back to Garreg Mach, every single one of them alive in spite of what the rumors might have said.

Slowly, he pushes himself off the door to approach the bed. He sits on the edge of it, almost uncertain with what to do with his hands, before he finally places one on Felix’s shoulder.

“...Guess there wasn’t much point in me nagging at you to take care of yourself while I was gone, huh?” His hair’s a mess. Has Felix even slept? Ate? His skin looks paler than usual, too. “Sorry I didn’t bring back any souvenirs; there weren’t exactly any shops and merchants waiting around, and rocks don’t really make for exciting gifts.”

He raises the blankets to cover Felix’s shoulder a little more. Maybe he should’ve stopped by the dining halls again before coming here, just so he could have some soup and water to help get Felix back on his feet again.