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[bestswordmaster]

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PSL - CF Felix & Sylvain

[bestswordmaster]

post-arianrhod

[diq]

[ is it a victory? on paper one can say that, and it's certainly one that's hard-won, but he doesn't feel like that. he's exhausted, physically and otherwise. (he can't call it spiritually because they'd just fought the knights of seiros and he's fairly sure they have been damned, in the archbishop's eyes if they haven't been before already.) there had been offers of drink as some of the men who have doubted their commitment to the cause suddenly view them more favourably, in a good light; even the lance of ruin is now being spoken of with something close to admiration which now sylvain finds uncomfortable and reminding him of his childhood. but he can't forget their faces, and he can't forget the battlefield, and while edelgard certainly shoulders the burden more than anyone else, sylvain is content to laugh and leave.

it's raining heavily and the camp is soaked to the bone with coldness and a fog that never seems to want to leave them. he's freezing. you walk into this battlefield, you spare one lord and kill the other because keeping dimitri alive is more dangerous than keeping claude alive and sylvain feels the long temptation miklan must've felt before his descent in the tower of winds.

there's a blessing to having his armor in black and that's to prevent anything else from being visible on it; blood, or tears. sylvain leaves the festivities without a word, uncharacteristic to him, and slips into his own tent; he removes his armour carefully and with some stiffness. from there he collapses on his cot with a bottle of wine and drinks it from the bottle after uncorking. it's bad. it's a dark red that he can't taste and is guaranteed to give him a headache in the morning. it's not the worst. and it's better than being alone. ]

[bestswordmaster]

[it is a victory. of that, felix is certain. whether or not it's one he can live with, well...he's alive, isn't he? he's alive, and the empire was victorious. that's all that matters. well, not quite. but sylvain made it out alive, too, so felix has no regrets.

that's what he tells himself so he can sleep at night, anyway.

he spares no attention for the soldiers who cheer and congratulate him, who act like he's a hero. fickle and pathetic, all of them. literally yesterday he overheard someone whispering that this battle would be where the two kingdom traitors showed their true colors and betrayed edelgard. and now they're being lauded for their 'loyalty' and 'diligent service'? please. felix didn't do this out of loyalty to anyone. he did it because whoever the king was, it wasn't dimitri anymore. hadn't been for a decade. he did it because the thought of taking up his father's title and serving the boar, of acquiescing to blind obedience and deference to the broken society that is - was - faerghus, disgusted him more than he could stand. because allowing people like his father to continue poisoning the world with a belief in ideals and church dogma that do nothing but get people killed senselessly and keep the unworthy in power was unacceptable.

and he did it because sylvain did. he's not sure if he could have actually stepped over that line, had his best friend not done it with him. perhaps it's disgraceful to admit that, and he certainly wouldn't aloud, but he thinks it's true nonetheless.

"you've betrayed just about everyone." ingrid's accusation still rings in his ears. well, she's dead and he survived. now, he supposes, he hasn't betrayed anyone, because they're all dead and beyond caring anymore.

he'll tell himself that to sleep at night, too, he suspects.

regardless of how many imperial toadies want to be his friend tonight, he skips the celebration altogether, staying in his tent to carefully clean and maintain his gear. and his tent is right beside sylvain's, so when he hears the other man return early by his footsteps, felix finds himself rising to his feet and going back out into the rain for a moment so he can barge into sylvain's tent uninvited.]

What are you doing?

[diq]

[ he gets another drink in him before he answers. ]

Drinking.

It's what everyone's doing, isn't it? [ sylvain sighs, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ] What are you doing?

[ not being alone, is likely the answer neither of them want to verbalize. they're both not blind as to how differently they're being treated right now; perhaps only edelgard and hubert understand exactly how difficult this was considering her relationship with dimitri ... well, more edelgard than hubert anyway, but he would understand, too. sylvain gestures at his bare lodgings - ] Go and have a seat, if you want to.

[bestswordmaster]

[felix grunts.]

Everyone else is drinking to celebrate.

[and sylvain definitely isn't. not being alone is exactly the right answer, but what felix says instead is,]

Making sure I don't have to endure listening to you and some girl in your tent all night.

[he doesn't actually think that's a danger, but falling back on familiar patterns of conversation is so much easier than the alternative.

he moves to sit on the floor near the cot, close enough to reach out a hand and expect sylvain to put the bottle of wine in it.]

I'm not letting you drink that entire bottle yourself. You need to be able to ride tomorrow.

[felix isn't usually one for alcohol; he hates the way it dulls his reactions and muddles his mind. but tonight he thinks he might not mind a little muddling, for once.]

[diq]

I've no plans with anyone else tonight, not to worry. Your ears are safe.

[ certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd done it, if only because there are certain habits that are safe and easy and comforting, even if he's not the type to stay the next day, or ask them to stay. sylvain has needs, perhaps some people would call them faults, but he has them nonetheless.

he hands him the bottle of wine. it's not the best, given the circumstances, but it's what he's got and he's not about to complain when some of their men are literally sleeping in the dirt. gone are the days when he can rely on certain comforts for a lot of things. edelgard's project means that his name, and the presence of his crest, will long fall to unpopularity and obscurity with her might. ]

Thank you for thinking of me. But it wouldn't be the first time. [ he has, however, yet to drag his darling face right thru the mud and for that, he is grateful for his own luck. ] That being said, now that we have their favour, it's time to start looking sharp again, isn't it.

[ and what a pain that was. ]

[bestswordmaster]

Good.

[felix accepts the bottle and takes a swig. he makes a face.]

This is awful.

[But he takes another sizeable sip anyway before he hands it back.]

I don't care if it would be the hundredth time. If we get ambushed and you're too hungover to defend yourself, I'm not stepping in to save your hide.

[that's a lie, and sylvain probably knows it. but it makes his point, he thinks.

then he scoffs.]

I couldn't care less about what they think of me. I don't need or want their approval. Praising us for being willing to--...do our jobs, it's such hypocritical bunk. Empty words. I'm not changing a thing.

[diq]

I never promised quality.

[ at least not now. sylvain takes the bottle of wine from him and sighs as he takes a sip and sets it down. he can't drink himself out of his mind if felix is here preaching responsibility. he'd feel guilty otherwise, in a day, a month, an entire year, half a decade of balancing guilt with responsibility. ]

... our jobs. Well, I don't know if we're good at it or bad at it.

It was awful. Dedue - [ and that's as far as he goes; sylvain is quiet again, thinking of miklan, thinking of so many things not wanting to be said, and he drinks instead. ]

[bestswordmaster]

Hmph. Do you ever?

[it's an empty jab, lacking real venom. he watches sylvain put down the bottle and wonders how long that will last.]

We're good enough to get it done. That's all that matters.

[ah. not long, apparently.]

...I know.

[felix is thinking of miklan, too, and of the desperation he used to feel years ago, when he tried to goad dedue into opening his eyes and seeing what he was enabling. felix finds that being right is almost never actually satisfying. especially when everyone he could say 'i told you so' to is dead.

and he's thinking about dimitri. because apparently, no matter what he does or who he cuts down, he can never stop thinking about dimitri.

he huffs a sharp chuckle with no mirth in it and motions for sylvain to give him the bottle back again when he's done with it.]

I suppose we've finally become the haunted ones. How pathetic.

[diq]

I mean, I knew it was going to be difficult considering the choices we've made.

[ he heaves a heavy sigh as he thinks about dimitri, and rather bitterly, drinks a bit more of the wine. ]

We are allowed to make such decisions. This might be selfish, and they certainly didn't have to like it, but it's not like we did it for fun.

I'm willing to be haunted. It's all I've ever known, since Miklan. [ a bitter laugh - ] I'm just upset, I suppose.

[bestswordmaster]

It's not selfish, Sylvain. Selfish would have been to bury our heads in the sand and pretend everything was fine. Pretend Dimitri was still in there somewhere.

[he has to force the name out without hesitating, but he refuses to wallow over it. the sooner they get used to talking about the...the dead, the sooner it will become just another topic of conversation.

(Sure, because Glenn ever became just another topic of conversation. Whatever.)]

He wasn't. And he couldn't be trusted to rule. Especially not with Rhea pulling the strings. There would have been no point in continuing to torture ourselves for an unworthy cause.

[he says it like he firmly believes it 100%, but his eyes say he's convincing himself as much as he's trying to convince Sylvain, and so do his actions when he takes the bottle back again and sips generously.]

Mm. ...I never thought it would be the boar haunting me. Or my old man. Or Ingrid. I used to tell Dimitri over and over that the dead don't haunt anyone. They're gone. There's no one left to care. But perhaps I was a fool, even if I was right. The dead don't haunt us, but it seems we let our memories do it in their stead.

[felix doesn't want that. doesn't want regrets. doesn't want the past to dog his steps any more than it's already done for half his life. if there were a way to just forget the last ten years, he thinks he would take it. he raises his head to glance at Sylvain.]

Faerghus was choked with them. Memories. This is what's best. Once the war is won, Edelgard will reshape Fodlan until it's unrecognizable, and we'll be rid of the past once and for all.

[diq]

... it's so strange to hear this from you.

[ and the fact that it's comforting. he's not being snide about it, he's grateful that felix is here because he doesn't know how to address it otherwise by himself. then again, perhaps the point is that he really shouldn't be isolating himself when this is happening.

it's true, though, and perhaps that's why it's disappointing: in his younger years he had thought that things will change once dmitri was put on the throne, and had downplayed or ignored felix's words about his friend.

and it's foolish to think of but he does have hope in edelgard's future. because if the past can be erased then perhaps they can move on to something better, no longer haunted by who they were, and will be able to look back at their childhood in a gentler way, as opposed to right now, where everything still hurts at the memory.

sylvain takes a last swig from the bottle and sets it aside. ]

I'm sorry. I should've listened to you more carefully. [ especially when they were younger. felix almost always seemed to have the accurate measure of the man. ]

[bestswordmaster]

Is it?

[felix isn't sure what's so strange to sylvain about anything he's said, but he supposes he has changed since they defected. maybe his friend is seeing something he can't.

maybe it's just strange to hear felix try to get over dimitri after spending so many years attempting to convince everyone. talking about him all the time. he's got to find a way to put it all behind him for good, or he'll never stop seeing that dead-eyed violence in the mirror.

ugh. he's got to stop navel-gazing, too.]

Yes, you should have. Everyone should have. But I don't know how much of a difference it would have made in the end. He was a stubborn, foolish boar to his last breath, and no one would have gainsaid him back then. Not their perfect prince. 'Loyalty' and 'duty' always came first.

[he sneers, but it still hurts. the way everyone he cared about put useless ideals above their own lives and the lives of others. let themselves be blinded by them. everyone, he supposes, except sylvain.]

[diq]

I don't think it was just that ... we were friends, too. We were close, or as much as he would allow in his position.

And he was lonely, I think, though I highly doubt the Archbishop helped in that regard.

[ tormented by duscur and turning to the church for aid, he really didn't think that helped matters for dimitri, because it turned the situation into something that hinged on the promise of salvation, if only certain conditions were met, if only there was the opportunity for power, if only. he can't fully condone edelgard's methods even now, but he can't say he disagreed with her anymore considering what lead to his choices to this day.

he'd turn his back on his family only once. ]

... not that that saved us any heartache in the end. [ because as bitter as felix sounded, he was hurt, too. he wasn't impervious to such emotion. ]

[bestswordmaster]

...whatever. It doesn't matter anymore. He's dead.

[it still doesn't feel quite real, that dimitri could be dead.

despite his dismissive words, felix frowns.]

Though sometimes...I wonder. If there was something else I could have done. Then again, perhaps it was already too late.

[felix doesn't fully condone edelgard's methods either, but what other choice did they have? he's come to terms with it all too quickly - the bloodshed, the chaos. his life was meant for battle one way or another, and what power he had to change anything another way, he threw away when he left Faerghus. war or no war, fighting and sylvain are all he has left.]

[diq]

[ he gives a short laugh at that. ] Don't let Hubert hear you say anything of the sort.

[ he feels like that's wrong, too. like the sentiment is wrong and he shouldn't be dead and that they should continue to fear their inevitable meeting still. on the other hand he's gone, well and truly gone, edelgard had seen to that and he can't bring himself to thank her. for what? he doesn't know.

instead, he says, in all seriousness - ] We should have a funeral.

[bestswordmaster]

Pff. Hubert can rot for all I care.

[he's never made a secret of how little regard he has for edelgard's melodramatic, scheming lapdog.

he looks a bit startled at the suggestion, before his expression falls into distaste. glenn's funeral was awful, and ever since then felix has planned to never attend one again, let alone hold one.]

Why? I hate funerals.

[diq]

I don't want to have this over my head forever.

[ being haunted, being in pain about someone they thought would be better. they don't have dimitri's body but they can pretend, they can have a mound for him somewhere and pay their respects there. ]

In any case it's just ... for us to be able to say things we couldn't, before, and to get it out entirely.

... I know I'm not making sense. I've probably drank too much. [ a soft laugh. ]

[bestswordmaster]

[felix lets himself think it over after his initial reaction. if it's just the two of them, there won't be any pretentious fanfare or empty speeches from people who couldn't give less of a damn. and sylvain's got a point, maybe, that if they condense all their thoughts and conversations into one event, it might keep them from weighing on their minds quite so heavily the rest of the time.

maybe this is how he'll finally succeed at emptying himself out so he can start over.

he makes a disgruntled noise, but he nods.]

Fine. We'll have a funeral. Just us, no one else.

[he pauses.]

Not just for him. For my father and Ingrid, too.

[diq]

Yeah. I'm not planning on inviting anyone else.

[ he stands up.

sylvain starts rummaging through his shelves until he finds one of his better wines, unopened, and sets it aside. he continues to look through the shelves, muttering here and there - "i know i still have it, where is it ..." - until he finds what he's looking for: some memorabilia from their school age years.

in his case it's a whetstone, for a dagger. and an owl feather. ]

... this was his, I'd planned to return it a long time ago and I just forgot.

I don't think I have anything of Ingrid's .... oh no, maybe I do. [ he produces a blue ribbon.

that'll do, for their funeral. ] If you have anything you want to add, feel free to do so. After that, all we need is a box.

[bestswordmaster]

[felix's lips press together into a thin line, seeing this nostalgic display, but he stands too.]

I...might have something. I'm going to look.

[he ducks out of sylvain's tent into the pouring rain, just long enough to get soaked all over again before he enters his own. not until the flap is closed behind him does he sigh heavily and rub his face with both hands. are they really doing this? torturing themselves with mementos on top of everything else?

yes, he supposes they are. he reaches underneath his cot for the wooden box he keeps there, tucked away out of sight in a corner. he'll never in a million years admit that he carries this around wherever he goes.

he opens it up and tries to be methodical about this instead of letting each item dredge up more memories. he shifts the black iron spur aside along with a few pieces of parchment and a book that ashe once gave him - no, it's just a book - until he finds what he's looking for. perhaps it's maudlin of him to keep these things, anyway.

when he returns to sylvain's tent, he's holding three things: an old horseshoe (from ingrid's favorite horse; she gave it to him for luck, a long time ago), a folded letter (from dimitri, sent to him days before the royal family and glenn left for duscur), and a silver brooch (bearing the fraldarius crest, which rodrigue gave him years ago for formal functions).]

Here.

[he thrusts them into sylvain's hands unceremoniously, glaring a little as if daring his friend to ask questions.]

[diq]

[ he smiles at him, doesn't linger at the mementos because it's a private thing for him, too, entrusted to sylvain even as they're in his hands. they burn with feeling. sylvain sets them all carefully in a pile and starts rummaging for a serviceable box, a wooden one with a latch that he was using to store his inkwells in; he can figure out a way to store them in other ways, he thinks, setting the small bottles aside as he empties the box.

the letter has to be folded a bit more in order to fit, but the rest of it otherwise manages to do so. the latch is small, and for extra durability, he finds a piece of leather twine he can wind around it. ]

That should do the trick.

We'll borrow a shovel, and then ... well, if we find flowers along the way we can put something on top of it as a proper grave. Otherwise, I think we've done all that we can.

[ he looks at him as he takes the good wine with him, as well. ] You ready to go?

[bestswordmaster]

[is he? no, not really, but that's the point of this whole thing. to become ready to move on. so he nods.]

I am. Let's get this over with.

[diq]

Right.

[ they step out. it's still a cloudy sky, the wind making it chilly as the festivities have died down to little more than a murmur amidst drunken voices. several people congratulated them along the way, a mix of half-hearted glasses raised to the proper snap of a salute. sylvain nods and thanks them where it's necessary but it's nothing that he needs, let alone felix; they borrow a shovel; they make their way into the dark.

the trails are dark and slippery. sylvain's thankful he didn't drink too much that it'd make traversing it too difficult; in any case he's not looking to go too deep into the forest anyway. when they get into a clearing, the soil soft and mossy underneath their feet, he stops. ]

This seems like a good place for it.

[bestswordmaster]

[felix ignores the congratulations and greetings entirely. he doesn't even bother looking over at them. he's starting to think pulling out those mementos was a bad idea. it's like they're...calling to him, from the box in sylvain's hand. accusing. dragging his thoughts into the past against his will.

sylvain said they would speak at this little funeral of theirs. say things they couldn't say before. but felix has no idea what he wants to say, or what he even has to say that hasn't already been said. he hates talking about these things, anyway. it's so much easier to just try to bury them. though sylvain seems to think they'll have to talk before they can bury, and what does felix actually know about moving past grief? evidently, not nearly as much as he thought.

but he follows sylvain through the darkness and into the trees until they stop where the ground is spongy and soggy. his night vision is decent, but even he can barely see anything, here. he'd taken the shovel so that sylvain would carry the box, so he wastes little time in moving past sylvain and poking at the ground in a few places before he finds what he thinks is the best spot and starts digging.

it's good to have something physical to do, so he's not just standing around with his stupid thoughts.]

How deep do you want this hole to be?