Summary: The Veilguard are at a loss after the fall of Weisshaupt, but no one more so than their leader Rook (Redmond Thorne) who lost everything in just a few hours. He blames himself for the destruction of the Wardens and the death of the only person that mattered to him, his adopted daughter Ayla. As he tries to make sense of the tragedy Emmrich Volkarin decides someone should check in on their seemingly unflappable leader.
Word Count: 5247
TW: Suicide Ideation
Pairings: Emmrich/Warden!Rook
*** **** ***
You still have a fight to win. That’s what Redmond had told Davrin. There was purpose in him surviving. Meaning to it. He shouldn’t dwell on surviving Weisshaupt when others hadn’t because he was a hero, and Maker knew the world needed one of those. Maker knows none of that was true about Redmond.
The older Warden should have died at Weisshaupt. He had argued it was his place to take down the Archdemon. Would have done it to had one of those blighted tentacles not blocked him off. Not that it mattered. Davrin killed the blasted thing and was still standing. By the new upside down logic of the world, that meant even Red still would be here if he had been the one to accept the death sentence. He would still be standing, still alive, still entirely hollow as he packed his bag.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have been the one leading the charge at Weisshaupt. He shouldn’t have been the one stopping Solas’s ritual. He shouldn’t have even been the one thrown out of the Wardens. It all should have been her. It all should have been Ayla. His Ayla. His daughter. His everything. But no, he took the fall for her, trying so hard to protect her, only to doom her for the umpteenth time. All he did was deliver her to the fate that had been chasing her since they had met. A fate that should have been his.
It would be his. That’s why he was packing. He didn’t need much for the Deep Roads. A few provisions to last till he found a suitable entrance, a way to sharpen his blade for the battle that would be his last, and… well and nothing. He always thought that when he went to his Calling Ayla would be there to see him off. He’d have time to bring something of her with him, but Weisshaupt took her and any tangible memories from him in a blink. All that was left was the stain of her blood in his armor from when he held her in the silence of the library. He would have stayed there forever had Emmrich not dragged him away.
Together Always is what they had promised all those years ago when her clan was wiped out by stray Darkspawn he had the misfortune of finding mere hours too late in his early days as a Warden, and they were.
They were together when he returned to Weisshaupt for his next set of orders, a barely eight year old Dalish girl in tow. They were together when her magic manifested enough that it was no longer just a secret between the two of them and he fought tooth and nail to keep her out of the Circle. They were together when she followed him on a mission she never should have, ending with her blighted at just nineteen and him desperately giving her the Joining, praying the Maker wouldn’t take her from him early. They were together when she disobeyed orders and saved a town from a Darkspawn horde.
They were together until senior Wardens wanted her gone and he took the blame. Until he treated her like the child she hadn’t been for a long time. Until he refused to let her take responsibility for her own choices, as if she hadn’t been a Warden for nearly five years. Until he stole her only escape from the death trap of a life he had given her.
He stared blankly at his near empty yet fully packed rucksack. Frozen with every new agonizing wave of guilt. He brought her to the Wardens. He forced her to take the Joining, dooming her to a short life. He had taken her chance at freedom, too naive to think of it as such. He had failed to see the axe before it—
Red clenched his eyes shut as if it would stop the memory from washing over him entirely. Ayla calling for him. Turning just in time to see the glint of the Hurlock’s blade swinging down. Ayla blinking in front of him, staff raised in a desperate attempt for a last second shield. The axe shattering the thin wall of magic she had managed in her exhaustion and then the blood.
Blood turning her Warden Blues maroon. Blood staining his own armor as he fell to his knees to cradle her small form. Blood slicking the stone, nearly knocking Davrin to the ground as he took down the darkspawn looming over them that Red simply couldn’t care about anymore. Blood trailing as someone, he didn’t know who, pulled him to safety while he fought to cling to her. Blood pooling around him as he held her on the cold marble floor, begging her to stay with him. Blood staining her strawberry blonde hair as he brushed it from her face, promising her together, always. Blood making it mean absolutely nothing.
Then it was gone. He was back in his cruelly calm room of the Lighthouse. Tears threaten to spill, distorting his vision. He hurriedly blinked them away until the only waves in his vision were the dancing lights from the aquarium reflecting on the walls. With a shaky breath, he tossed his pitiful excuse for a prepared sack over his shoulder and took one last glance around him.
He wasn’t bringing much, but he wasn’t leaving much more behind. He had been on the road most of his life. Even when stationed at Weisshaupt the most he had to his name were a few letters from family, whittling tools, and his gear. Now he left behind a few sets of clothes, a small wooden griffon he had made on the road with Varric and Harding he had intended to give to Ayla when he returned, and a note explaining where he had gone and to not bother following. It should have been his time last night, but it hadn’t been. It would be soon.
He turned to leave, not wanting to watch the judging stares of the fish beyond the glass anymore, when a knock came at the door. He stayed silent. He hadn’t planned to say goodbye to the team. They all had their own problems. They didn’t need to mournfully see the old Warden off to his death. Worse, they didn’t need to try and convince him to stay. That’s what the note was for. Tell them he had started to hear the Calling. That the Gods' manipulation of the Blight had sped it up, and the song had started a few years early. It was easy enough to believe. Never mind that the only voices in his head were those of his own guilt and his daughter’s screams.
He held his breath, waiting for whoever was knocking to assume he had already fallen asleep or was mourning elsewhere entirely. They were all so preoccupied. He had hoped he could slip out in the pseudo-night of the Fade and be far out of reach come so-called morning. A minute passed without further knocking. He listened closely for retreating footfalls. Surely, whoever had thought to check on their de facto leader couldn’t still be there.
“Redmond?” came the concerned voice of the necromancer he shared a wall with. “Are you there? I hate to disturb you. I just, well I just thought I’d stop by, make sure everything was all right.”
Shit, had Emmrich heard him next door? He still wasn’t sure how soundproof the Lighthouse was. Sure, it was based on their dreams and desires, but how attuned to the need for privacy was the arguably mind reading world of the Fade? Demons like Spite didn’t seem to understand that some things were personal, so why would their home?
“I understand if you want privacy,” continued Emmrich through the door. Red could practically hear his brow pinching in worry along with it. “I know Weisshaupt was hard for you, and you may wish to have space. However, I… well there is something I wish to discuss.”
There was nothing Redmond wanted to discuss. What was there anyway? His daughter was dead. The Wardens were slaughtered. It was his fault. Talking didn’t fix that, but Emmrich wouldn’t stop knocking.
“Redmond?” he called yet again. When Redmond threw the door wide the older man had his hand still raised to the door. “Oh I’m sorry, did I wake you?” His eyes fell on the pack on Redmond’s shoulder. Then his brow (which was already pinched, as Redmond had suspected) knitted further in confusion. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Just wanted some air,” he said, hoping the crack and pain in his voice wasn’t too noticeable. He made to push past the other man, but Emmrich placed his ringed hand on his shoulder to stop him. Rather effective, seeing as Red immediately flinched away in a gasp of pain.
Emmrich frowned. “Are you sure that’s the best idea? After Weisshaupt, you should be resting.”
“It’s fine,” Red insisted, making again for the hall. Emmrich simply blocked his path with his staff this time.
“I’d hardly call the color draining from your face from a simple touch ‘fine’”
“Well, it’s pretty normal for me,” Red huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like some real, non-Fade air.”
“Alone? Absolutely not.”
“I don’t need a watcher.”
“You are not leaving in your state.”
“I didn’t ask for permission.”
“At least let me examine your shoulder before you hurt yourself further,” the necromancer returned with his own haughty annoyance.
Red didn’t need this. He didn’t care anymore if his shoulder burned if he moved it too quickly, or if his knee creaked more than it had just yesterday. That wouldn’t matter where he was going. He could still kill a few Darkspawn before keeping his promise to Ayla. But Emmrich clearly wasn’t leaving.
“Fine,” Redmond relented, dropping his bag at the door and did his best not to limp back to the crushed velvet couch front and center for those blasted nosy fish to watch. “But make it quick.”
Emmrich followed next to him, looking prepared to catch him if need be. Never mind that Redmond could easily bowl him over like a stiff breeze, even with being a few inches shorter. He actually reached a steadying hand out when Red sat down. Sure, he had grimaced as his knee went from aching to stabbing pain, but that wouldn’t be a problem much longer once Emmrich stopped hovering and let him go.
Emmrich stood over him, nervously wringing his hands on his staff and looking around the room. Redmond had never seen him anything but put together, but he supposed a battle like Weisshaupt would shake everyone somehow. It was nice to see that someone who grew up and lived in literal tombs could still be shaken. He wasn’t sure he could trust someone who walked away from the previous day unscathed. Not when it utterly destroyed him.
Wanting this charade to be over, Red jerked his chin to the empty space next to him. “You can sit down if you’d like. Promise sharing a couch won’t break any more bones.”
To this, Emmrich gave a slight laugh. “I’d certainly hope not. You’d be well beyond my capabilities if you were that delicate.”
Red returned a half-hearted snort. “Delicate isn’t a word most would use to describe me.”
A flush crept up from underneath Emmrich’s pristinely pinned collar, and his mouth fell just ever so slightly agape at this. Red had to stop himself from smirking. He shouldn’t be teasing like this, accidentally or otherwise. It wasn’t fair to Emmrich, and it only made him feel worse. Enjoying himself when he was drowning. It just made the fall from the brief second of forgetfulness so much harder.
“Right,” Emmrich cleared his throat and sat next to Redmond. “Well, let’s start with your shoulder,r shall we?” He reached to begin undoing the still gore splattered pauldron from Redmond’s left shoulder. His delicate fingers traced lightly over Red’s chest, fiddling with the buckle, and Red’s vision spotted as he hissed in a breath.
“Do you really need to remove it?” he asked, flinching away.
Emmrich just tugged him back by looping a finger through one of his other armor straps. “How would you suggest I examine an injury through a layer of metal and then leather armor beneath even that?”
“Magic.”
The near withering look he received was answer enough. “I will not humor that with a response. You’ve mentioned your daughter is a mage, so I would hope you know better. Besides, as someone who studied mostly dead subjects, I’d prefer to more closely examine…”
He kept talking, but Redmond wasn’t hearing him anymore. Even the radiating heat and stabbing pain as Emmrich pulled at the buckles of his armor was numbed as Weisshaupt flashed through his mind once more. A shout, a shattered shield, blood, blood, blood.
“Was,” he croaked, shocking himself out of the memory.
“I’m sorry?”
“Was,” he said again. “She was a mage.”
Emmrich gave a solemn nod and set Redmond’s finally removed pauldron on the table next to them. Right next to the note. His eyes rested on it for just a second, but if it tipped him off he said nothing of it.
“You’re right, she was. I’m sorry for my mistake.”
Red did his best to laugh it off. The rasp of oncoming tears did not help his case. “Would’ve figured a Mortalitasi like you would’ve been pretty used to remembering someone is dead.”
“Even those who are practiced in death can have a hard time adjusting to one as sudden as hers.”
“Not sure if I really want to adjust,” Redmond said so quietly that one couldn’t blame Emmrich if he hadn’t heard it over the constant hum of the Fade around them.
He honestly thought the mage had missed it when he didn’t speak up at first, but then his voice came so softly, “I know these words can ring hollow, but I am truly sorry for your loss. From the little you have told me and the brief time I knew her, she seemed like a wonderful young woman.”
Red had nothing to say back.
Silence fell between them. Emmrich slowly helped him get the leather armor off his shoulder, allowing him to examine it as closely as he wished. The glow of his magic was surprisingly cold against the burning pain as he ran his hands over Redmond’s upper arm and chest. There were no gaping wounds, but the bruising was already black down to his collarbone and purple and yellow danced across his ribs. He tried not to move too much under Emmrich’s touch, his breath shaky as he watched him work so carefully. The coolness spread through his ribs, numbing the pain and allowing those shaky breaths to not hurt nearly as much as they had been.
They sat like this for Maker knows how long. Emmrich tracing the bruises and scrapes along his torso, the occasional brush from his gold rings sending a shiver down Red’s spine. It would have continued on like this and Red would have cherished the memory as he headed off to his fate if Emmrich simply hadn’t spoken up.
“Why were you still in your armor?” he asked quietly. His voice had an edge to it that made Redmond stiffen. It wasn’t outright accusatory, but there was an ache to it that was all too knowing.
“Told you, I was just going out for some air.”
“Where were you going for air that you needed armor?”
“I just hadn’t even taken off yet,” he tried to defend. “You saw how difficult it was with the two of us. I just didn’t bother.”
The other man wasn’t letting up though. “And your sword? The bag you had packed?” He was still being so gentle, both in tone and his healing, but Redmond pulled away.
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“I think you do.”
“No, I don’t!” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t supposed to still be here. He had wanted to leave. “I wanted to go for a walk, clear my head, but you insisted I stay here over nothing!”
“Multiple of your ribs were fractured, your collarbone cracked, and your shoulder had clearly been dislocated at some point during the battle.” His still calm demeanor only sent Redmond further over the edge.
“I said I was fine!”
“‘Said’ and ‘are’ are two very different things.”
“Well, I am now!” He stood up in a rush as if to prove his point, entirely ignoring the now dull ache in his chest and the still stabbing pain in his knee.
Then came the last words he wanted to hear. “If you are fine, if you are truly just going for a walk, then what is in that note?”
He didn’t break eye contact, staring up at the old Warden. His gaze was somehow both harsh and heartbreaking all at once. Redmond’s mouth dried out as he stuttered, trying to find the words, but failed before he could even start.
“Warden’s leave when they’re past their prime. It’s just what we do,” he finally managed, staring at the floor in shame.
“Where were you going?” Emmrich pressed again.
“You’ve heard of the Calling, haven’t you?” He began to shrug his top back on. Whatever moment of peace there had been had clearly passed.
Emmrich took a deep breath and gave a short nod. “So have you been hearing it then?”
“I’m past my prime.”
“That is not the same thing, nor is it true.” Emmrich sounded affronted. He had now stood back up to argue on an even level, but it didn’t matter. The charade was over, and Redmond was leaving.
“Look at Weisshaupt and tell me that was the work of someone who should be leading the front lines!”
“No one could have prevented that!” He had now sunk to Red’s level, raising his voice, even if he wasn’t shouting quite yet. At the same time, he used the head of his staff to block Redmond from reaching for his pauldron next to that stupid note.
“I could have!” Unlike Emmrich, he was shouting. He was tired. He had caused so much pain already, and he had tried to make this hurt the others as little as possible. Emmrich trying to help was just digging into a wound. “Weisshaupt fell! The Wardens fell!”
“The Gods did that.”
“I RELEASED THE GODS!”
“You prevented Solas from doing irreparable harm to the living and spirits alike,” Emmrich said desperately. “If you hadn’t—”
“If I hadn't, Neve wouldn’t have been hurt,” Redmond practically spat. “Minrathous wouldn’t have burned. The South wouldn’t be ravaged by blight. The Wardens, the one group trained to kill their fucking monsters, wouldn’t have been slaughtered!” His voice continued to rise with every listing.
“The Venatori and Antam wouldn’t be running rampant! The Blight wouldn’t be mutating! Solas wouldn’t be in my fucking head! Ayla wouldn’t be… my baby wouldn’t be…” Just like that, the fight left him. He sank back to the velvet green couch, deathly still,l while the tears he had been desperately holding back for so long finally spilled over. “She was never supposed to be there.”
He wished he ached. He wished the sobs racked his body until he couldn’t breathe. He wished he could feel anything besides the gaping absence of his daughter. He would never hear her cackle till she snorted, swearing she would never do such a thing. He would never see the terrifying coolness of her eyes in battle melt away back to her bubbly demeanor before the final enemy even hit the ground. He was never going to see her sheer joy as she squealed at the sight of a griffon like he knew she would. She was gone.
She wouldn’t ride on his shoulders anymore, even if he hadn’t carried her like that in years. She’d never help any of the younger mage recruits adjust to the freedoms that could come with Warden life compared to their past. She wouldn’t pester him for not taking proper care of his injuries after a battle, so much like Emmrich was trying to now. Maker, they would have been the death of him together. But there was no chance of that happening anymore.
No more picking her up from Weisshaupt’s holding cells the next morning after an ill-advised night of drinking. No more of her begging him to shave his patchy grey beard. No more hugs that hurt worse than a hurlock. No more. No more. No more.
He didn’t have a body to burn. He left her under all that blight, bleeding and broken. He left her for Ghilan'nain’s sick experiments. He had nothing of her left besides the stains on his armor and the fear that the faces of the next monsters the Gods sent after them would be all too familiar. Yet he was expected to just continue on like this?
He could barely breathe, let alone lead a team against ancient all powerful mages. Even the God of Lies was terrified of them, and now he understood why. He was one man. One broken and battered man who just wanted to rest. Who just wanted to be with his little girl.
“Redmond?” Someone whispered. “Redmond, it isn’t your fault.” Emmrich was on the ground in front of him, hands gently resting on his knees, shaking him from his stupor.
“She wasn’t meant to be there, Em.” Redmond rasped. “She was supposed to have gotten out, but I took the blame for her. She should’ve been the one stopping Solas. It’s my fault. She’s dead because of me.”
“She died protecting you.”
“That makes it worse.”
“That makes it her choice.” Emmrich’s careful hands took either side of his face and held him steady, a jeweled thumb gently brushing the ridge of an old scar across his cheekbone. His hazel eyes soft and stern locked with Red’s own stormy green. “You cannot blame yourself for others' decisions. Especially those made from love.”
Redmond opened his mouth to argue. She didn’t know what she was doing. She tried to protect him, but she hadn’t meant to die. If he had paid attention she never would have had to save him in the first place. None of the arguments made it out before Emmrich cut him off again.
“Do not take her final choice from her.”
“It should have been me.”
“And she refused to let it be.”
“And I can’t live with that,” Redmond sobbed, pulling Emmrich’s hands from his face. “I have nothing of her left besides this guilt.”
“No, you don’t.”
Redmond felt the bitter anger rise in his throat again. “If you try and tell me I have my memories as if they aren’t fucking tainted I swear…”
“Of course not,” Emmrich still managed to sound offended despite talking to Redmond like a frightened animal who would flee at a moment’s notice. Which, Red supposed, is exactly what he was trying to do. “I’ve aided in the passing of the dead and the comfort of the living long enough to know what marks death can leave. Memories heal, but rarely without one such scar.”
“Then you know I have nothing, so just let me leave.” He sounded pitiful. He knew it, but how could he be anything else with grief suffocating him?
Emmrich eyed the seat next to him again, “Do you mind?” He once again seemed oddly worried.
“Tell you what, Volkarin,” Redmond said with a bitter laugh. “You have full permission to sit next to me for as long as I live.”
How long that may be might have gone unsaid, but Emmrich certainly understood what was implied. Based on his frown he did not find the joke nearly as funny as Redmond did. He took the seat regardless.
He wasn’t looking Redmond in the eyes. Instead, he stared at the floor, brows stitched tight in thought. He was fiddling with one of his many bracelets, a nervous habit Redmond had noticed whenever he had caught him pondering different magical theories or reading a particularly bad paper by one of his students (though he preferred to call the papers “perplexing”). His own self-pity had hidden Emmrich’s nerves from him since he had entered the room. Thinking back on the last few minutes, they had been glaringly obvious.
Before he could ask what it was that had him so on edge Emmrich let out a steadying breath and pulled a silver chain from his pocket. It was none of his own jewels. No, he only wore gold with the finest cut gems. This was an old, stained chain with a slightly smaller than palm sized silver pendant hanging from it. One Redmond recognized immediately.
“When I said I came to check on you, that was only partially true,” Emmrich admitted quietly. “I also came to give you this. Though I was admittedly nervous. I don’t know much of Warden burial customs and didn’t know if taking this would have been alright.”
Redmond was only half listening as he gently took Ayla’s Joining necklace from Emmrich’s delicate grip. It was hers, no doubt about it. The pendant was of a griffon ready for battle, curling around the glass orb that held a drop of her blood and another drop of the blood from her Joining chalice. A common enough design among Wardens. His own mirrored hers. The griffon curling from the left while her’s lay on the right of the glass. What wasn’t common was the tiniest glint of a lavender gem where the griffon’s eye might be. A detail Redmond had paid extra for so that the griffon’s eyes matched her own. Reminding her that a desperate Joining or not, she was always meant to be a Warden.
“While I’m sure you burn your dead like so much of the South, especially with the fear of the Blight,” Emmrich continued rambling, lost in his own thoughts as much as Redmond. “I wasn’t sure if you left these necklaces with their owners. I saw you leave one of your own with her, so I assumed they were important.”
This drew Redmond from his stupor. His gaze snapped from the necklace to Emmrich. “Did you take mine as well?”
“No,” Emmrich assured him. “You left it for a reason. I simply thought you could use something of hers. To remember or to say goodbye.”
“Good. Good,” Redmons said, drifting back to the last bit of Ayla he held in his hands. He had left his own necklace with her, tucking it into her cold hand and resting it on her heart, before he had left her. He hoped that wherever she was then she knew he had tried, that she’d understand a piece of jewelry was the best he could do for the moment. Together always, even if he was the one left alone.
But he wasn’t. Emmrich somehow had known to check. To take this small bit of his daughter. To remember or to say goodbye. Not goodbye. He wasn’t ready. He was never going to be. But remember? He slipped the chain around his neck, the vial of her blood resting cool against his heart, but warming with each passing beat.
“Thank you.”
“I know it cannot replace your daughter, but I hope it can at least be a comfort.”
They sat in silence for what could have been a breath or an eternity. Time in both the Fade and in grief was never too clear.
“Are you still going to leave?” Emmrich broke the silence softly.
Redmond gave him a sidelong glance. Even with the partial view he could see the worry etched into the other man’s face. “You said it yourself, it’s no replacement.”
As he expected, Emmrich didn’t hesitate to give his thoughts on the matter. “You are no more replaceable than your daughter!”
“Emmrich.”
“I know you think someone else can lead and should lead, but I must strongly disagree!”
“Emmrich, please.”
“And not just because of your connection to Solas.”
“Emmrich!” Redmond had to yell over him in the end, but the necromancer finally stopped to listen. “I said it wasn’t a replacement. It isn’t. I don’t know how I’m going to wake up and just continue on like this, but I can at least try for tomorrow. I thought I had nothing, so next to nothing is an improvement.”
Emmrich watched him, saw as he gave the slightest of smiles while he gripped the amulet tight enough to threaten drawing blood. Redmond didn’t look at him. Too many thoughts swirled in his head, too many emotions in his chest. Adding whatever Emmrich would without a doubt have written plainly on his face to the mix could help, or it could confuse. He just wanted to focus on the smallest victory. He hadn’t lost all of her.
Eventually, Emmrich got up and made to leave. “I’ll send Manfred with some tea for your pain,” he said. “And something to help you sleep, hopefully dreamless enough Solas will let you rest for one night. We’ll check on your knee in the morning.”
Redmond grunted an acknowledgement, but did not bother telling him his knee had been a lost cause years ago, or watch him go. He did not see him stop at the door when he turned to look at him with a deeper sadness than he had been willing to show painted across his face. “Redmond?”
Another grunt of acknowledgement.
“There are people besides Ayla who would mourn you if you had been the one to fall. People who would mourn you if you left still.”
Redmond’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“I know you wish it had been you, but… well I would have mourned you if it had been.”
With that, the heavy oak doors clicked shut, and Redmond was once more left alone, more on his mind than he had started with. He no longer felt entirely hollow, but the feeling that replaced it had left him sick and with a foul taste in his mouth. Too much swirled in his head for him to parse together a coherent thought.
By the time Manfred had come into the room a few moments later with a tray of tea as expected, he was close to spiraling once more. He downed his cup, choking on the bitter taste of whatever herbs had been boiled down. He didn’t care. All he wanted was for the dreamless sleep Emmrich had promised to take him over.
And it did. While he never thought he’d close his eyes and be able to rest again he did just that. The second his lids shut he fell into a sleep so deep he felt no ache in his ribs, no stab in his knee. True to Emmrich’s word Solas did not reach for him in the Fade, or if he had, Redmond had not noticed. Just as he had not noticed Emmrich have Bellara lock the Eluvian in the room below him, or hear him cast the same wards on his door as he put on Lucanis’s when they feared Spite might slip away in the night. All he knew was sleep and the weight of a pendant on his heart.
I just love when I purposely do not train my team to do something a certain way and when they say they did it that way and I say “No no doing that breaks thing. Here’s how and why it breaks things” they argue! I love that my boss has had to pull this team member aside multiple times telling them to listen and they still argue and explain to me that actually I don’t know what I’m talking about! I love that until I got my promotion they made more than me to be a contrarian asshole :D
I bet Degree is really regretting having Christian Pulisic as the face of their campaign about how dreams don’t become reality without some effort and sweat now huh
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