@eisbyl liked! / byleth & faye!
"My father knew yours," Faye says, like that's a normal place to start, our dead fathers were friends. Hawke can't empathize — Hawke is so broken — Hawke knows that there's not a damn thing she could possibly say that would do any good, because nothing anyone said after Malcolm died felt like it counted for more than the ash he left when they burned the body. Nothing anyone said after Bethany or Carver counted, even, for that.
She's trying. Hawke knows well how little trying counts for.
"My father took on mercenary work, shortly after I was born. To support my mother and I. As I got older, he'd tell me about groups he'd come across. Ones he hated, and ones he respected." It's been so long since Faye has really known Byleth. They were both different people, years ago. More family, fewer corpses piled in the hollows of their stomachs. It doesn't matter, but something has to. "He told me about a man called Jeralt. Said he was a good man. Kind, as far as mercenaries go."
















