‘‘ on this land, i am torn. part of me wants to fight and repel all outsiders. the other part of me is the outsider. ’’
affiliated rp blog for fernand from fe 2 / 15, lead with pride by mimi.
There's a small package smuggled in with Clair's usual abundance of gifts for Fernand's birthday. The gift is small- just a cream-colored handkerchief with red floral patterns and the symbol of Mila delicately embroidered in the corner. The note is similarly short and, though unsigned, written in Lukas' elegant script: "Clive told me to get you a gift. I hope this next year will see you grow kinder and more open-minded."
though he grows a bit more apart from clive each passing day, fernand was right now careful to hide from everyone’s sight, cloistered in the safety of his room. he despises the attention and the misplaced sympathy others’ would bestow upon him on such trivial occasion. he didn’t want to see fake smiles, nor hear wishes feigning affection.
clair’s gifts are extravagant, as expected. it’s almost a ritual of some sort. fernand never thought much of gifts, but there was a time he indeed appreciated the kindness behind the gesture. clair’s frivolous habits may never change, but he did. gods, he did, and his little sister’s hands are not here to help him go through the mountain of presents like before. he does not inspect them because he knows the numbness will be replaced by a tightened throat and unshed tears, his mind fresh with vivid memories that he refuses to let go.
curiosity gets the best of him, however— this one gift among the others which he can’t quite guess who it is from. the graceful writing makes it almost too easy for him to figure it out, and he harshly breathes his name in the form of a curse. fernand drops the gift and crushes it underneath his boot, along with his hope. if those weren’t from clair, he would have already lashed out, satisfying his need for destruction— but he holds himself back for her sake. the sudden anger leaves him with ragged breathing, and he clasps his hands together under the impression of a warm touch around his fingers. he grows older, but he realizes he feels younger than he had ever felt before.
(Shoot. Let me try that again. Ignore the last one) He is determined to serve milord, but I fear he is pushing himself beyond his limits. I wonder if he misses his friends.
( my guess is @softspokenrigelian! )
fernand has no answers to offer but a harsh gaze and lips contorted in irritation. how pretentious to step so casually in his boundaries, speaking her thoughts so freely. well, there might be a sense of relief— perhaps she wasn’t a little mute plaything, after all. the doll has a voice.
he forces himself to tolerate her because she is the one the walk by his lord’s side. fernand is as silent as ever but the scowl he constantly wears tell another tale. such impotent woman— he does not comprehend what his lord sees in her. much to his dismay, her gentleness reminds him sometimes of mathilda; and he makes sure to keep her at arm’s length to eliminate any possibilities of reminiscence of his glorious days, basking under zofian sun. the nobleman wants to snap, but her kind exterior prevents him from doing so. perhaps he isn’t stubborn as he likes to think he is. damn it all.
‘‘ i have no time for camaraderie and i couldn’t care less for such a thing. i miss no one. ’’
Arrogant boy, love yourself so no one has to, they’re better off without you. Arrogant boy, cause a scene like you’re supposed to, they’ll fall asleep without you, you’re lucky if your memory remains.
Berkut studied Fernand’s expression, the curl of his lips as he spoke of his motherland, the fury glowing faintly in his eyes. How much of this was passion fueled by a wrong, to be dissipated later after some distance had been put between himself and Clive, and how much of it was a true clash of ideals? he wondered in silence. For all his bitterness toward Zofia, Fernand was still no Rigelian. So salient were his Zofian traits that Berkut never forgot for an instant who he was, or where he came from, and regarded him with the mild suspicion reserved for all the Zofian turncoats.
“I see,” he said. “And you are prepared to turn your lance upon your fellow countrymen? To face Sir Clive on the field of battle?”
A pair of patrolling soldiers sporting Rigel’s crest on their sleeves passed before them and exchanged acknowledging nods with Berkut, but their eyes lingered a beat longer on the back of the the silver-haired knight with whom he spoke. Aware of this, Berkut lifted the tarp over the entrance to his tent and beckoned for Fernand to enter ahead of him.
“You have pledged your loyalty to the Empire,” he continued, the tarp rolling back down behind them. “But more importantly, you have pledged your loyalty to me. Do you understand?”
While Fernand might be smitten by his new lord, he wouldn't revere him at his own expense. Prince Berkut would learn to value him and respect him; he suffered enough disrespect from his previous peers. His former life does not matter anymore. He demands justice for the offense, for every slight they inflicted on him without any reservation. The name pronounced feeds the fire raging in his heart, gaze sharp.
‘‘ Clive is a fool, ’’ he growls back through clenched jaw. ‘‘ We're nothing but strangers now. As his former confidant, it is my responsibility to make him fall. Others' meddling in this affair is unwelcome. ’’ He wouldn’t insist more on the matter, unwavering even if the weight presses hauntingly ‘pon his shoulders. Humble, he nods silently and enters the tent under Berkut’s guidance. The empire... he almost scoffs. Damn it all. He does not care. If he can align under one lord to prevent the rotten country he used to love from prevailing, that is more than enough.
Inert and refusing to sit down to make himself at ease, the nobleman is only interested in giving the answers his new master seeks. ‘‘ I believe I do, my lord, ’’ he breathes, gracing the prince with the courtesy of an elegant bow. Long lashes kiss his cheek briefly, lips forming a thin line. His pale features and Zofian heritage may be a bit too clear, but he'd valiantly prove anyone wrong if they dare to doubt him for it. There's humility yet an undeniable strength of character in his movements; a product of his noble upbringing, no doubt. ‘‘ I vow to loyally serve you. I have no other wish than to fight under your command. ’’
since a week or two i’ve been thinking about this, and now it’s time to try to put my chain of thought into words... i feel i’ll fail miserably, but hey i’m trying!
despite his blunt attitude, fernand is shown as being a nurturing person, his family constantly being a strong point in his perspectives. home is always his returning point. he is also clive’s confidant, constantly listens to clair’s antics ( which, let’s be honest, he loves ) and vouches for mathilda’s needs of hearing stories about clive. despite being brutally honest, fernand is also willing to put his wishes aside if it can grant happiness to his entourage. his attachments are strong and though he secretly fancies mathilda, fernand seems to not being envious; he is genuinely happy for both clive and mathilda and preaches the moments they share together, the three of them. he also is the first in line to do whatever he can to make their bonds stronger.
when everything falls apart, the deliverance is his home away from home; after all, clive and clair are like family to him. giving alm the leadership of their group was the last straw, and the good comparison might be to how clive brings to their home his family’s murderers. clive was only thinking for the best to ensure the deliverance’s survival, but fernand was completely wrapped in his personal turmoil. i’m sure it’s more than just ‘‘making a commoner leader’’, it’s also how clive ( in fernand’s perspective ) showed him disrespect to his own trauma that doesn’t heal; and he considers it as an act of betrayal. of course he wouldn’t agree to follow alm and it would greatly upset him.
so what happens when he has no one left to take care of and having no home away from home? right when after fernand left the hideout, he was actually seeking to put an end to his life by being taken to desaix, which brings berkut and by extent rinea into the picture. i was at first very indifferent to fernand’s relationship with berkut as i saw it no more than fernand finding an excuse to wreck havoc on those he sees as betrayers, and didn’t personally care about the person he served under. anything for survival and having a reason to fight for, right? based on his last appearance dialogue, he knew that blaming others was just a shallow behavior in a desperate attempt to make him feel better about his loss. in other words, the ‘‘commoners are stupid / worthless’’ is just bullshit and he knows it. he just wanted revenge and it’s a good cover he wanted to make himself believe.
berkut and fernand have a good age gap separating them. given fernand’s personality, i can’t help but think that he is disheartened in serving a master so young plus their different upbringing. and that is even if he’s still smitten by their ‘‘shared ideals’’, feeding fernand’s need for violence at the same time.
however it’s not too much of a stretch for me to see fernand coming to a point where he silently treats berkut like a little brother. after losing his much loved siblings and closest friends, my take is fernand would attempt to get back what he has lost, giving him a better reason to continue fighting for rigel. it’s all done unconsciously; fernand is just used to be a caring, nurturing big brother and he would naturally try to fill the emptiness he has felt for too long. in act4, fernand seems more caring than a simple retainer; giving berkut advice and watching over him like an older sibling would. he almost even knows how to deal with his outbursts, rationalizing him. berkut is undoubtedly way more talented than fernand on a battlefield, however his reactions and the like when angry are very childish compared to how fernand approaches his own suffering and is overall more composed. their age difference adds to something. i don’t know if berkut would ever realize it, but fernand would definitely keep it close to him, even if he would never blatantly say it out loud.
fernand was also clive’s right hand - man, a similar position as to when he is at berkut’s side. i didn’t talk a lot about rinea in that post, simply because i wanted to focus on berkut. i’m always loud on how my favorite relationship concerning fernand is with clair; and his newfound fondness for rinea might as well fit the sibling affection he has for clair.
tl;dr fernand is a kind person and comes to really care for berkut and rinea, giving him a chance to heal and find some bits of his old self along the way although he surely still is homesick and misses clive and clair. ( and mathilda. )
well this was my first event and i have to say that i really enjoyed it, even if i didn’t have the chance to participate as much as i wanted to! anyway here’s the small list of peeps i have a thread with for the event; @fatefulmaiden, @restorationprincess, @thedivinehair and @rigelsprince. i’m willing to continue all of ‘em unless you want to drop it, which i’m not against at all so don’t feel bad! i’d just rather know because i will get to answer ‘em. so please let me know if you want to continue or not!! i hope everyone is having a nice day, chuchus ♥
“Bunnies are notorious troublemakers,” she defends against his clear disbelief. It’s not so strange, really. The average farmhand in his lifetime could be expected to have multiple run-ins with the little bandits. But she does not argue this, instead, she holds a firm gaze until he complies, determination having outweighed any consternation that may have prevented her from doing so under different circumstances.
Deirdre has the mind to hide the faint trace of a smile when the knight ( oh, she should have gotten his name earlier now that she thinks of it…) appears to interpret the bunny’s glance in their direction as provocation. When the furry menace decides to flee the scene, he is in hot pursuit and Deirdre hurries to match their pace.
“You there, halt!” She calls to the rabbit as if it is capable of fathoming the words’ gravity. “Please, you must return that item at once!”
Now with the assistance of a stranger enlisted, a dashing knight no less, the odds of success had surely doubled. Although her fears will only truly be quelled once the circlet is back to its proper place.
At the lady’s plea, the nobleman could only roll his eyes. With a jolly hop, the bunny scurries underneath a tall edge of cedars, interrupting their chase. Fernand is suddenly thankful to have played tag and other games for long hours under skies so blue yet still ashen compared to his golden playmates. Clair and Clive might be warm and constantly shining, but he is quicksilver and clever. The moon is ideally always chasing the sun after all and he has learned. That bunny certainly reminded him of Clair and the white bouncing dresses with endless frills and pink ribbons she used to wear as a young girl.
A detour is taken and on a level lower separated by stairs is the bunny, whose speed seems to have diminished. Fernand swiftly went over the beige fence, skipping the stairs— the rush almost made him lose his balance but he intercepts the little thief successfully. And oh, how the wolfish grin blooms ‘pon his lips in that moment.
The white rodent is rather small, Fernand gripping the little creature with fair ease with only one hand ‘round its body. For an animal that is usually so easily anxious, this one barely moves within his grasp. So maybe it wasn’t the first time then? The prize is forgotten and from his intimidating height, Fernand’s glowering countenance shines in all its looming menace.
‘‘ Have anyone ever told you that thievery is for wretches, you little rascal? ’’ He scolds in a low tone, catching his breath.
Lips pressing together, a hand would lift to rub his brow in irritation. What sort of sorry mess did they get themselves into? Of course the nobleman wouldn’t be able to lead them free of this maze without fussing; did he look like he was a damn scout used to scurry here and there!? How insulting. He is no simpleton!
Fernand merely lifts his hand to gesture at... whatever situation they got themselves into, sighing all the while. Unfazed by the prince’s remarks, he merely blinks, arms crossing ‘pon his chest.
‘‘ Well, we wouldn’t be in this unfortunate predicament if my lord wouldn’t have insisted on entering the maze in the first place, ’’ he argues back, politely.
As he awaits Fernand to provide his answer in its entirety ( only after admiring the little smile he’d been so graced with ), he takes a lengthy sip of the wine. The spices added to it are foreign on his tongue, but provide an interesting combination of biting and sweet. He hums when it first hits his tongue, briefly wondering if there would be any way to get his hands on its formula. But once satisfied with his drink, his lips curl into a small grin.
“Perhaps I do,” he begins, one hand placing itself upon his jutted hip while the other idly swirls his wine. “But I’m sure you could find just as much entertainment given the right company and – ooh! – would you look at that? You just happen to have such a person right in front of you!” Now he practically beams. “So, what do you say? Can I get you to participate a little more? Hmm?”
While others could have laughed at the archduke’s enthusiastic jest, the nobleman could only roll his eyes as a quiet answer. Izana’s plans concerning him does make him feel a bit uneasy... with reason. Amber eyes shift away, an attempt to evade the other’s interest altogether. His back straightens in slight discomfort, and he busies himself with another sip— though at this point it looked rather like a generous gulp. Anything to buy himself more time before he had to give him an answer.
In defeat, he breathes a soft sigh, ( though it could be easily heard ) not answering directly his inquiry. ‘‘ What are your intentions, exactly? I’m afraid me being here is enough participation. ’’
A gentle kiss to her hand, a confident and expert step, and Eirika is won over – enough so that the man’s words don’t immediately put her on her guard, at least.
“Now I am the one flattered,” she murmurs back, almost a retort. “There’s no need to say anything ungenuine…”
Of course, she’s quite used to flattery, both meaningless and pathetically sincere. Something tells her words come easily to this man. His eyes are sharp, educated; his silver hair falls the same way Seth’s does.
“Will you tell me your name, my lord?”
‘‘ My, you are sharper than you look, my lady, ’’ he confesses bluntly, amusement enticing his words as he smoothly guides her in a twirl. His chin lifts some, eyeing her from high as he still leads their dancing steps. This would be entertaining. The surprise is pleasant, but it is true he expected otherwise with the young woman’s doe - eyed gaze and the gentle wave of her cerulean mane.
He was here to enjoy a waltz, but there she is— making all the sweeter to be acquainted with her. ‘‘ But I ask you reconsider the honesty of my words nonetheless. I wouldn’t have bothered to invite you to share a dance with me if you haven’t caught my eyes so suddenly. ’’ Appearance was the only asset one could base themselves on when trying to find a dancing partner, after all, as cold ( and shallow ) as it could sound.
‘‘ Fernand, proud knight and nobleman of Zofia. May I ask for yours, my lady? ’’
‘‘ A bunny, ’’ the statement falls flat, almost exasperated, raising a brow incredulously at the petite stranger. How did she even managed to lose her circlet to a little rodent, of all things? He bites back a remark, but he sighs.
Fernand tries his luck without questioning. She looked anxious enough, and it wasn’t as if he was doing anything interesting at the moment anyhow. His steps are light as he wades through some guests passing by. It doesn’t take long for the small creature to notice him, its head looking in his direction, ears alert. Was it nibbling the circlet now? Was it mocking him!? Oh, and there it is, back on his face— the scowl.
With another tentative step, the animal suddenly bolts, Fernand giving chase right after it. A frustrated growl rumbles in his chest; of course it would run away, given his misfortunes.
