“Powerless… to change it…” Why did those words affect him so much? Watching Sigurd mourn for the loss of his father, of course he wasn’t in the best mental state… but something about those words haunted Levin. They sounded hopeless, and watching Sigurd stare blankly at nothing in particular just felt so wrong. It wasn’t like him at all, and the happy demeanor the older male used to wear when they met seemed to fade more and more. It was a tense battle, but the lack of a smile on Sigurd’s face replaced by a forlorn and tense look was nearly heartbreaking.
The room was so quiet now that Levin could hear his own heart. Nervousness. Something was wrong, and he could feel it. It was almost as if everyone had changed suddenly, and not even his music as a “bard” could cheer anyone up. Back when he was running away from his responsibilities, everything was so easy and simple. There wasn’t much to think about. Now something was constantly on his mind, and he was plagued by strange thoughts he couldn’t shake. Was Sigurd also feeling this? This tense air everyone all of them as an army that made everyone seem to distant?
Nothing was as it was before. It was as if the air itself had changed, and warped into something suffocating. If they won this battle… what would happen? From Sigurd’s words, all he could think of was darkness. That death would come for them and invite them, but without decline being taken for an answer. Even for Levin, being casual and carefree like he used to was just a chore now.
“Sigurd… Don’t tell me you’ve given up… Hey, look… we gotta fight! Grandbell’s might against ours isn’t going to be easy to handle. You need to focus… …right?” Words were failing him. His sentence trailed off, not because he unsure if Sigurd was listening, but he didn’t want to instill false hope in anyone. Not Sigurd, and not himself. It wasn’t hope he felt. It was some kind of impending doom, and he couldn’t shake the thought or feeling. He couldn’t use those hopeful words. “…I’m really sorry about your father. I can’t even begin to think of what I’d do if I had lost my mother back in that civil war in Silesia. I won’t say I understand how you feel, and I won’t tell you to cheer up so quickly, but… it’s because we’re powerless to change our fates that we have to fight them, and go down fighting and staying strong, just like your father did. …It’s because of you that I realized that, Sigurd. We can’t run away forever. I ran away once, and I’ve been regretting it. If you’re feeling what me and the others are feeling, help us fight it. If we’re to die like this and follow your father, we can’t die shamefully either.” Sigurd’s expression was a killer; yet everyone seemed to have it. “…Hey! Sigurd, look at me! We’re going to stick this out, just like we’ve always been! I’m… I’m not ready to mourn about a death I haven’t even been faced with!”
Voices just went in one ear and out of another; he wasn’t really hearing the words, just voice tones going along with the noises. A blank stare and a grave expression were all he had on his face, non-changing ever since his father died right in front of him after handing over the Tyrfing. The holy sword... Surely it was a sign that things were going disastrous, with them up behind the scenes didn’t help with his raw anger. If Byron himself couldn’t subdue Reptor and Langbart, what could...Sigurd possibly do?! He must restore his father’s good name and make them show the truth of their own conspiracy. He had to see His Majesty about this, and very soon.
I feel so hopeless... What have I been doing up until now...? It was all he could think about. The meaning of all the events that led up to this very moment. Trying to figure out what to do next to no avail as he kept getting lost in his own anguished thoughts. Curling his fingers into fists, there was no thinking straight now. More voices were fleeting and he hadn’t really registered anything that was being said until he heard a clear shout with his name following right after--, “—about a death I haven’t even been faced with!” — Wait, what?
Sigurd jolted upright, his attention snapped back to reality and looking half-blankly at the Silesian prince, his mind just now processing what he all had said that he thought he didn’t even catch due to his own mourning. “...No... I would never give...!” He abruptly stopped short, hollow words getting caught in his throat. What was wrong? The lord was so hellbent on making things right for what they rightfully were. A bit chaotic, but he knew he himself would never pull through so far only to give up the fight in the very end. Their whole cause would have gone to waste then. It would only help the other side take advantage to turn the tide into their favor, and he couldn’t allow that.
This past year...had been so hectic it was starting to take somewhat of a toll on his mental state. First Eltshan, then Diadora’s sudden disappearance, and now his father who was struggling to hand over the family’s heirloom to his son to fight in his place after he passed on. There was only so much he could handle.
“Levin... You know better than anyone that I would never go down in vain. I...must go consult with my king. I never imagined we’d be facing my home country’s forces against my own... This..,” his voice kept dropping below his normal tone, he gritted his teeth then bit down on his bottom lip. It was all because of those two dukes he had to go fighting his own country, and if he had to bring their armies down to dust - that was the line he’d have to cross with no turning back. Mild anger only bubbled up inside him, he tried all he could to hold it back from getting in the way of his speaking but sometimes, just sometimes it was futile to do so.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I would never go on knowing I have to sacrifice anyone! What good is this fighting in the first place if people were to give up their lives?! All of that trouble to try to save all the villagers, our own men from death multiple times, protecting the nobles, and yet...!” Raising an arm to grip the collar of his own jacket with his hand, he breathed out trying to calm down even if only slightly. “I’ve had enough of Reptor and Langbart meddling into things. They must be celebrating now that they got rid of Prince Kurth, Duke Ring, and my father. If they so dare touch His Majesty, they will never hear the end of it from me, and not only me, our Grandbellian people. They’d never have it! Rrgh, I don’t know what they’re up to, but whatever it may be, it’s nothing good!”
Sweet heavens, I hope Cuan’s Lance Ritter reinforcements will be here soon. We could really use the backup. Oifaye and Shanan had already left with my son to Isaac... Things could really go downhill from here on. What a mess...
There was only so much time until they would be faced with the enemy... They need to move as quickly as possible. Looking at Levin straight in the eye felt nearly unbearable, even after the events that had ran down in Silesia, he was...somewhat able to keep his uppity attitude even through thick and thin. Something Sigurd admired about him. It was also something he wished he could do right now...but couldn’t. Levin still spoke the truth, however, he had realized, even if death was so inviting for them to fall in. They could change such ‘fates’ by going down the right path—even die fighting. The man only felt guilty now, just thinking how he could just depart this world any time now...and leaving Celice behind. Sigurd never really knew a mother’s love growing up, and it feared him already that Diadora may never come back and for Celice to live through the same very life he had. Except never knowing either parents’ affection? It was...unthinkable.
“Levin... I’m sorry, you’re right. Despite everything we’ve been through, I was almost too ready to fall apart and retaliate. We all have someone...something we must protect. I cannot let them take that away from us. We should get going to the Phinora castle, get away from Isaac. I don’t want any innocent lives to get more wrapped up in this war...”
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