[Perhaps he should have seen it coming. Sylvain wasn't exactly the best at hiding anything about himself, at least not to Felix. Or perhaps Felix himself had been in denial, or too caught up in the hellscape that was navigating a brutal, seemingly endless war with his father breathing down his neck and...the boar, living up to what Felix had been calling him for years as he loses his grip on reality day by day.
Still, Felix should have seen it coming. Sylvain's philandering was well-known but this much, and to this degree, it had to have been a sign of something. A cry for help, maybe. And Felix did nothing.
What could he have done, really?
He tries not to dwell on answers he may never get and answers that will not change anything. Besides, there are more pressing matters.
The Margrave had learned of his son's defection and promptly disowned him, demanding the Lance of Ruin returned to House Gautier no matter the cost. How swift he made the decree wasn't much of a surprise -- Sylvain isn't the first scion of Gautier to be disowned, after all. It was the cold dismissal of the heir he had once put everything into that made Felix's skin crawl.
Even Rodrigue had found that unsettling. Ironic, considering he had been more than happy to send his eldest son off to die in the name of his future king, then honored his senseless death as something to be celebrated. Felix reminded his father of that last bit as he snatched the Margrave's letter from him and muttered, under his breath, that he'd be the one to tell the boar and for Rodrigue to prepare the remaining soldiers to prepare for Arianrhod.
But now that he's stepped into the halls where the boar stalks through random hours of the day, muttering to himself and snarling at anyone brave enough to approach, Felix wonders if it would be even worth telling Dimitri any of this. Would it make a difference?
Does he even remember Sylvain?
Felix frowns at that last intrusive thought. Of course he should. He better.
Determination renewed, Felix marches further into Dimitri's chambers, the letter crinkling in his fist. He can already hear the madman's mutterings.]
Boar.
[Felix shoves the chamber door open without so much as a knock or pause for decency. They've abandoned decency long ago when they found Dimitri, fresh from eating eats and drinking out of puddles, talking about beheading the Emperor with the same glee as he once did about Zoltan's swords.]
We need to talk. No -- I need to tell you something and you need to listen to me for a change.
as it is with any interruptions, the ghosts fall silent, and resentfully so. he can feel it severely, as if it were an extension of himself, more real than whatever this shell means to anyone or anything at all. he turns to glance at him, barely visible from the mound of fur that he wears around him like a second skin, and dimitri turns his head away in irritation after. there's a sense in him that is angry in being defied: he always does this, he thinks in murderous tones until he can't ... remember why he's thinking of felix (felix? alive, still? no, glenn was the one that is - ) in such terms.
we need to talk. they talk all the time. they talk all the time and dimitri is exhausted, often, and felix more so, weary than he started and angrier than before. and in dimitri's head, crowded of all the things he has to keep track of and more, he finds himself drowning amidst the voices he tries to keep straight: alive from dead. living from non-living. talk about what? all they ever do is talk. all he ever does is listen. (to whom?)
he is still, against the dark walls of fhirdiad. an open-air prison for a wild king. ]
... Speak.
good lord that last post of mine had lots of errors
[Felix's typical approach is to curtly announce himself, say what he wants in blunt terms, and take his leave once he's finished. No matter the audience. His father had given up on scolding him over it years ago after realizing such a thing was futile.
But now that he's stopped here, just a few meters away from where the would-be Tempest King of Faerghus stands, Felix can't help but think that, perhaps, he ought to do things a bit differently.
Although part of him is too weary from years of resentment and war to consider that.
So he holds up the crinkled parchment to draw Dimitri's attention to it. He doesn't hand it over, as they'll need it and he's certain Dimitri will just imagine Edelgard's handwriting (or face) on it and tear it to useless shreds.]
Word from Margrave Gautier.
[The words have barely sunk in before Felix swallows and shifts his weight to his left hip. This is even more difficult than he ever imagined.]
It's about...him.
[Of course it's about Sylvain. The Margrave only ever concerned himself with two things: protecting the land from Sreng and his son. Well, his now-disowned son, anyway.]
The Margrave wants the family Relic returned to him.
[The Lance of Ruin is a pretty fitting name, all things considered. And here Felix thought being the shield was burdensome...]
He doesn't care how, as long as it's back in the hands of an actual Gautier. His words, not mine.
[The last part wasn't embellished despite Felix's bitter tone.]
Scouts and messengers alike have reported seeing Sylvain marching with the Emperor towards Arianrhod, along with the rest of the Imperial Generals.
[Sylvain had been suspiciously absent on the battlefield since he'd defected. Felix wondered if it was a conscientious strategy or if the redhead had fallen back on purpose to avoid encountering them...
He couldn't put his finger on which option. Both were just as likely to be the case.]
[ of course the margrave would make such a demand. and of course it falls onto him, once more, to discipline an unruly knight, perhaps to save the father from the burden of having to kill his son. margrave gautier was not a man known for sentimentality and would never be accused of such a thing, but in that moment, dimitri wonders whether he was truly just thinking of sylvain and begging the king to take the responsibility from him. save him from the trouble of killing his son. he had been spared of having lost anyone in duscur, and now, it seems that fate has turned on the margrave with his wayward son.
what was he supposed to do with him? deliberately in arianrhod, sylvain, who never does anything without intention, lets himself be seen walking with her. walking with a beast. the betrayal doesn't sting anymore. he only remembers his cruel laughter whenever he dismisses his lovers. he must think of the kingdom as one such thing: another spurned lover, same story as before.
dimitri's smile cuts across his face like a knife. ]
We will meet their forces with our own strength.
I will give the Margrave what he is due.
[ cornelia should be able to handle it. cornelia, and ... now is the time to show the shield of faerghus his use, isn't it?
his father at the corner of his eye, agrees with him. a sacrifice for a sacrifice. and with the wayward knight coming back it falls upon his friends to set him to the correct path. to teach him the error of his ways.
]
You will go there and you will kill him.
It shouldn't be hard. [ dimitri scoffs. it sounds like a blade skipping on rough stone. ] Sylvain has never worked hard in his life - only to betray others, which he does exceedingly well.
[ whether a king, or a woman. if dimitri was being honest, he only wish he'd known earlier so he never had to feel like he ought to trust him. dimitri's hands are curled like talons, shaking in his rage. ] Show him no mercy. Break him alongside her. Tear them apart - limb to limb - and then it will only be her. Only Edelgard that needs worrying about -
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Still, Felix should have seen it coming. Sylvain's philandering was well-known but this much, and to this degree, it had to have been a sign of something. A cry for help, maybe. And Felix did nothing.
What could he have done, really?
He tries not to dwell on answers he may never get and answers that will not change anything. Besides, there are more pressing matters.
The Margrave had learned of his son's defection and promptly disowned him, demanding the Lance of Ruin returned to House Gautier no matter the cost. How swift he made the decree wasn't much of a surprise -- Sylvain isn't the first scion of Gautier to be disowned, after all. It was the cold dismissal of the heir he had once put everything into that made Felix's skin crawl.
Even Rodrigue had found that unsettling. Ironic, considering he had been more than happy to send his eldest son off to die in the name of his future king, then honored his senseless death as something to be celebrated. Felix reminded his father of that last bit as he snatched the Margrave's letter from him and muttered, under his breath, that he'd be the one to tell the boar and for Rodrigue to prepare the remaining soldiers to prepare for Arianrhod.
But now that he's stepped into the halls where the boar stalks through random hours of the day, muttering to himself and snarling at anyone brave enough to approach, Felix wonders if it would be even worth telling Dimitri any of this. Would it make a difference?
Does he even remember Sylvain?
Felix frowns at that last intrusive thought. Of course he should. He better.
Determination renewed, Felix marches further into Dimitri's chambers, the letter crinkling in his fist. He can already hear the madman's mutterings.]
Boar.
[Felix shoves the chamber door open without so much as a knock or pause for decency. They've abandoned decency long ago when they found Dimitri, fresh from eating eats and drinking out of puddles, talking about beheading the Emperor with the same glee as he once did about Zoltan's swords.]
We need to talk. No -- I need to tell you something and you need to listen to me for a change.
no subject
as it is with any interruptions, the ghosts fall silent, and resentfully so. he can feel it severely, as if it were an extension of himself, more real than whatever this shell means to anyone or anything at all. he turns to glance at him, barely visible from the mound of fur that he wears around him like a second skin, and dimitri turns his head away in irritation after. there's a sense in him that is angry in being defied: he always does this, he thinks in murderous tones until he can't ... remember why he's thinking of felix (felix? alive, still? no, glenn was the one that is - ) in such terms.
we need to talk. they talk all the time. they talk all the time and dimitri is exhausted, often, and felix more so, weary than he started and angrier than before. and in dimitri's head, crowded of all the things he has to keep track of and more, he finds himself drowning amidst the voices he tries to keep straight: alive from dead. living from non-living. talk about what? all they ever do is talk. all he ever does is listen. (to whom?)
he is still, against the dark walls of fhirdiad. an open-air prison for a wild king. ]
... Speak.
good lord that last post of mine had lots of errors
But now that he's stopped here, just a few meters away from where the would-be Tempest King of Faerghus stands, Felix can't help but think that, perhaps, he ought to do things a bit differently.
Although part of him is too weary from years of resentment and war to consider that.
So he holds up the crinkled parchment to draw Dimitri's attention to it. He doesn't hand it over, as they'll need it and he's certain Dimitri will just imagine Edelgard's handwriting (or face) on it and tear it to useless shreds.]
Word from Margrave Gautier.
[The words have barely sunk in before Felix swallows and shifts his weight to his left hip. This is even more difficult than he ever imagined.]
It's about...him.
[Of course it's about Sylvain. The Margrave only ever concerned himself with two things: protecting the land from Sreng and his son. Well, his now-disowned son, anyway.]
The Margrave wants the family Relic returned to him.
[The Lance of Ruin is a pretty fitting name, all things considered. And here Felix thought being the shield was burdensome...]
He doesn't care how, as long as it's back in the hands of an actual Gautier. His words, not mine.
[The last part wasn't embellished despite Felix's bitter tone.]
Scouts and messengers alike have reported seeing Sylvain marching with the Emperor towards Arianrhod, along with the rest of the Imperial Generals.
[Sylvain had been suspiciously absent on the battlefield since he'd defected. Felix wondered if it was a conscientious strategy or if the redhead had fallen back on purpose to avoid encountering them...
He couldn't put his finger on which option. Both were just as likely to be the case.]
...
So, are you going to do anything about it?
don't worry about it!
what was he supposed to do with him? deliberately in arianrhod, sylvain, who never does anything without intention, lets himself be seen walking with her. walking with a beast. the betrayal doesn't sting anymore. he only remembers his cruel laughter whenever he dismisses his lovers. he must think of the kingdom as one such thing: another spurned lover, same story as before.
dimitri's smile cuts across his face like a knife. ]
We will meet their forces with our own strength.
I will give the Margrave what he is due.
[ cornelia should be able to handle it. cornelia, and ... now is the time to show the shield of faerghus his use, isn't it?
his father at the corner of his eye, agrees with him. a sacrifice for a sacrifice. and with the wayward knight coming back it falls upon his friends to set him to the correct path. to teach him the error of his ways.
]You will go there and you will kill him.
It shouldn't be hard. [ dimitri scoffs. it sounds like a blade skipping on rough stone. ] Sylvain has never worked hard in his life - only to betray others, which he does exceedingly well.
[ whether a king, or a woman. if dimitri was being honest, he only wish he'd known earlier so he never had to feel like he ought to trust him. dimitri's hands are curled like talons, shaking in his rage. ] Show him no mercy. Break him alongside her. Tear them apart - limb to limb - and then it will only be her. Only Edelgard that needs worrying about -