⚔ The weight of it all is starting to catch up to you, along with questions you had been fending off since the war ended. What were you fighting for? No, not for the Empire. You didn’t give a single shit about such grandiose ambitions. Yourself? Because of some selfish reason to set yourself apart from the rest? To refuse to hear out that boar and follow him blindly to the grave? Like your brother did? Like your father? Your friends? Yes, that seemed more like it. In the end, you grew selfish, tied up by chains of your own making. That’s why you couldn’t accept the Sylvain in front of you, refusing to believe he’d still care after what you’d done to him.
You wanted him to be just as angry as you were–you wanted someone to channel that anger towards you because that’s how you felt about yourself. Every time you wandered across the lands and slayed foes left and right, you did so because there was naught else you could calm yourself anymore. There were no songs to calm you, no laughter and camaraderie among friends to ground you.
You were a monster, that much was certain. You became the very thing you hated–and fitting, really. It was as tragedy followed in your wake.
When the other begins to talk again, you don’t take your eyes of him for a second. He dares to come closer, but you don’t bother tensing up. You wished he’d be quicker, if anything. Maybe his words held some credence. After all, you were the one who provoked him, wasn’t it? You stormed your way on the battlefield, certain to get to them before the Empress could. You felt a stab of remorse, one you don’t think you’ve ever felt so vividly, as your eyebrows knit in frustration.
“It doesn’t change what I’ve seen…what happened when we fought. I broke our promise. I let you die first,” you admitted despite yourself, your gaze breaking as you looked anywhere else except for him. Your nails dug deep into your palm, still some bit of fight left in you, refusing to give in. “I made sure…no one would get in the way when I struck that boar down too.”
And when he reminded you of your youth? How you clung like a helpless brat, crying whenever you were in the slightest bit of danger or uncomfortable situation? How pitiful you were then, relying on others, knowing they couldn’t save you in the end. Sylvain is closer now but you haven’t got an escape route, nor did you want to really. He still considered you a friend– his best friend. How foolish.
“I don’t know what to make of this- of any of this, but I’m…” Another thick swallow, feeling some semblance of anguish rise in your chest, “I’m so tired. If I am the only one to remember, fine. So be it. Just please–” Your voice trembles despite yourself, your gaze still lowered in fear of tears threatening to spill. Even if you hadn’t cried in years, this encounter alone was enough to make it possible.
“Leave me be. I refuse to go back to how things were. I’m far beyond redemption to make amends.”
The words sting in a way you've never felt before - you pride yourself on having thick skin, on having so many walls and barriers that no one would be able to find their way through them. That no one would be able to break them, that you wouldn't have to worry about feeling vulnerable in front of anyone. Each mask you had was constructed carefully, perfectly, each in different ways that would suit every situation you could possibly think of.
This, though? This wasn't something you could've ever prepared for. You never took Felix for a liar, you never thought there would ever come a day where you'd hear him say that he broke the promise the two of you had made all those years ago. It still doesn't make sense, parts of it, because back home-- you're sure, positive, that things weren't like this.
Why were his memories different?
He asks you to leave in so many words, and there's a part of you that almost wants to listen. He sounds so broken, so much weaker than you've ever seen from him, and it makes you want to do anything he asks of you. Just to ease some of that suffering, any of it, to lessen any of those things you could see plaguing him.
You don't move from your spot, though, and you can feel pieces of those masks chipping away - little by little. You don't want him to see that you're hurting, because you can tell he's hurting so much more. He doesn't deserve to feel guilty-- to feel worse for effecting you like this, in ways you can't even truly understand yourself.
"I'm not going anywhere," your answer is steadier than you expect it to be and it almost surprises you, but you let it roll off of your shoulders quickly in exchange for taking the last few steps forward - if you'd been intending to attack him to begin with, you still have a fire spell to bend at your will to make up for your lack of a lance, but the thought doesn't even cross your mind. It never would.
You're much less hesitant in wrapping your arms around him than you thought you would be, too. It's not often you burst his personal space bubble like this, it's not often that you think he'll let you just give him a hug. Even less often that you think he'll let you escape uninjured.
Not that you're expecting that, but you want to make your words more pointed, "I'm not gonna 'leave you be'. I'm not gonna leave you alone, Felix. It's not gonna happen."
